


LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST ARC 1: Journey Into The Sahara

by roryheadmav



Series: LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Desert romance, Highlander - Freeform, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2001-05-20
Updated: 2001-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos is still reeling from a painful betrayal and the death of his wife. In order to forget his pain, he undertakes a perilous journey into the desert to escort the male concubine of a notorious emir. But there is more to this concubine than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me begin by saying that this is NOT "Seduction of the Desert Prince", although it almost came so close to being a clone of the Krell's desert saga.
> 
> LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST was originally meant to be my entry for "The Tempering Forge" contest on HLQC. However, when I saw that it was getting dangerously similar to "Desert Prince", I decided to take it out of the desert and changed the setting to Glenfinnan. Unfortunately, it obviously didn't work out in this different locale that I decided to scrap it altogether.
> 
> Years later, I decided to post the mangled draft of TEMPEST at the request of my list sibs on the Highlander Mavericks (HLM) list. It was they who pointed out to me that the story was worth salvaging...IF it were returned to its original desert setting. I did so with much apprehension, fearing that I might end up making another clone of "Desert Prince."
> 
> This NEW version of LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST is the result.
> 
> There are four story arcs in this story. The first and second story arcs are finished and were previously hosted in HLQC. The third and fourth story arcs were posted exclusively in the HLM Yahoo Group. Because there is a demand for people to read the remaining arcs, I've decided to post them here. Please take note though that the final arc remains UNFINISHED. Thanks to certain nasty people in HL fandom, I've lost the interest and the drive to finish it.
> 
> This story would not be possible if it were not for the members of HLM, who pushed, bribed and threatened me at pain of death, to rewrite this tale. Obviously, LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST is dedicated to all the members of HLM, particularly Mary (who gave me the means to finish this story as well as write other tales), Camimac (whose feedback proved valuable to the making of this story), Eng (for her patience and for housing my stories in HLQC), Sheeza, Annie, Jeanine, Janet, CTaylor, Daisy, Corky, Cyndy, Meave and so many, many others who never ceased in giving me encouragement and keeping my vision straight.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my little desert yarn, even if unfinished. This may not be "Desert Prince", but I tried my darnedest to come up with a tale that has its lofty standards.

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

The sun was setting, casting a fiery glow upon the grassy knoll and the tiny cross marking the grave on top of it. A lone figure stood before the grave -- a young man with unruly, shoulder-length hair that was as black as night. He was clad in a sleeveless shirt, trousers and riding boots. His red cloak fluttered in the wind. Bending down, he laid a bunch of wild flowers on the grave.

        "It's not long enough," he whispered sadly. "For awhile, I thought we'd be together forever, but it wasn't meant to be. You even made me forget the vow I made. But the wheel has turned once again, and I must settle the unfinished business I've neglected to attend to for the past twenty-five years. Forgive me, my darling Alexa! Wherever you are, I hope you'll understand why I have to break my promise to you."

        Behind him, a man cleared his throat. Turning, he saw the scribe who had come to fetch him. He has a kind face, the face of a man you could trust with your life and the secret of your Immortality. His hair and beard were flecked with gray. In his hand, he held a cane. He was aware that the scribe had lost both his legs in the wars and, now, uses wooden legs to replace the limbs he had lost. But his infirmity didn't stop him from going where he liked. Once a warrior, always a warrior.

        "We must be on our way, Methos," the scribe urged him. "The caravan leaves in three months and you must see my Master before we depart."

        "Which master are you referring to?" the Immortal queried, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Joseph, I am finding this very confusing. You told me that your Master desires my services in leading the caravan through the desert, to ensure the safety of his prized whore. If he needs me that badly, he could afford to wait."

        "No, not THAT master," Joseph replied, the disdain obvious in his voice. "I was talking about my TRUE master, him whom I serve at all times. Forgive me, but it is not my place to explain. He will be the one to answer all your questions. However, it is imperative that you speak with him in secrecy. I believe he has...a boon...to ask of you."

        "Does he know that my services do not come cheap?"

        The scribe frowned at that question. It was against his better judgment to approach this Immortal with that other, "unofficial" matter. Methos' apparent greed only raised more doubts as to his worth to his Master. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to fulfill the task that was given him. However, he swore to himself that he will keep a close eye on this most ancient of all Immortals.

        "Yes, he does," Joseph confirmed. "And he is willing to pay handsomely."

        A grin quirked up the corners of the Immortal's lips. "If that's the case, I accede to your desire for haste. Don't worry, Joseph! We shall make it."

        Looking back at the grave, Methos blew a kiss. "Farewell, Alexa!"

        With long, confident strides, the Immortal went towards the scribe.

        Putting a hand on his shoulder, Methos declared, "Come, Joseph! We shall ride!"

 

        It was way past midnight when their ship arrived in El Djezair. The inhabitants of the port city were hushed in deep slumber. The two men disembarked, leading their horses down the gangplank. With Methos' assist, the scribe got on his chestnut mare. Fitted to the horse was a special saddle, built for his specific needs.

        "This way," Joseph whispered in his ear, pointing to the heart of the city.

        Methos frowned as he gazed in the opposite direction where a majestic edifice of white marble stood. "I thought we're going to the Palace?" His white Arabian stallion, Thanatos, fidgeted restlessly, aware of the unease in his master.

        "No," the scribe replied. "Not there. That is the official residence of my lord the Emir's esteemed friend, the Sultan. He has, in turn, allotted different...lodgings...for my master that are specific to his duties."

        Though he was burning with curiosity, Methos chose not to pry and, instead, followed the scribe into El Djezair. All his questions will be answered in due time.

        The two men rode into the city, following a torturous route. Methos knew the reason for this. Ever since they arrived, he could feel eyes watching them. However, as Methos suspected, their pursuers were not content with just watching them. Sure enough, as they turned at a street corner, hooded thugs wielding scimitars immediately accosted them.

        "THIEVES!" Joseph shouted in alarm as his horse reared up.

        But then, as the ancient was about to unsheathe his Ivanhoe, a dark shadow leaped from the rooftop, the sword in his hand flashing in the moonlight. Before both men could even blink, pained cries escaped from the robbers' lips as the shadow zipped between them. In that split second, Methos had seen how their rescuer slashed each man down by swinging his blade in a wide circle. The robbers didn't stand a chance against that deadly move. The thugs fell dead to the ground.

        Methos was surprised to find that their rescuer was clad in the garb of the infamous Japanese assassin, known as the ninja. From head to toe, he was dressed entirely in black. His face, though hidden in shadow, was also covered by a mask. But the ancient could feel his eyes upon him, measuring him. The Immortal granted him that same intense perusal. This young man would be a worthy adversary. However, if he were to fight this warrior, the only death that the ancient could give him was a swift decapitation, for the assassin before him was a member of his kind, although not yet born to life eternal.

        With a salute, their mysterious savior literally flew into the air and vanished at the rooftops.

        Methos handed the reins to Joseph. "Take my horse! I'll catch up with you!"

        Before the scribe could argue, the Immortal leaped to the roof as well. Joseph's jaw dropped at the sight of the two men's extraordinary agility.

        On the rooftops, Methos pursued the assassin, leaping from building to building, house to house. Anyone who would watch the two men from the highest tower would think that they were flying. At certain points where the houses were meters apart, they were actually gliding, their feet moving as if they were walking on air.

        "Wait!" called Methos, seeing the distance between them increasing. "I want to talk to you!"

        The assassin came to a halt, standing on the narrow edge of a stone wall, his lithe figure silhouetted in the brightness of the full moon. Instead of answering, he again gave the Immortal a snappy salute and jumped down. As he stepped onto the wall, Methos saw the ninja disappear into the shadows of the compound. As the ancient leaped down, he startled Joseph's horse that had just entered through a small gate. Methos grabbed the reins, swiftly bringing the animal under control.

        "You scared me half to death!" the scribe exclaimed as Methos helped him down. It did not escape Joseph's notice that Thanatos, which tagged along behind him, remained calm, a trait of a battle-ready steed.

        "The ninja!" Methos said breathlessly. "He's here!"

        "I don't think so. Wherever his home is, it is definitely not here. This place is too well-guarded for anyone to get in or out."

        "You could make an exception of ninjas."

        Joseph gave the Immortal a meaningful smile. "I don't think we have anything to worry about this particular ninja."

        "Why do you say that?"

        "Didn't he just save our lives? I've heard that he has been helping the poor citizens of this city. He steals money from thieves and brigands, and distributes it to the poor folk."

        Methos smiled wryly. "A hero, is he?" Ignoring Joseph's pointed glare, he asked, "Where are we?"

        Earlier, he had a good view of the compound. A lavish garden surrounded this rectangular edifice made of marble. Before it was a large courtyard. The compound was enclosed by high stone walls. Judging from the yellowing of some of the stones, it was obvious that the walls had been standing for a very long time now and had new stones added only recently. Aside from the main doors in front, the only other entrance to the building was a small wooden side door.

        "My Master would not have us go through the main doors," Joseph whispered to him as he tapped on the door three times using the rusty ring. "He wants your early arrival here kept a secret as much as possible."

        The Buzz hit Methos like a ton of falling bricks. Then, the door was opened by a Black man in flowing desert garb. He was sporting an even darker beard and a mustache. On his head, he wore a turban.

        "He waits for you," the man said. "Allah be praised that you have finally arrived!"

        "This is Khassim," Joseph introduced the moor. "My Master's personal bodyguard."

        "I have been ordered to protect the one you shall speak with." He then parted his robe a bit to reveal his scimitar. "And I shall do so with my life."

        "Your Master will not come to harm at my hands," the Immortal swore to him. "I have been hired to lead the caravan into the desert, and bring the Emir's prized whore back to his realm."

        The moor's eyes narrowed at that word "whore." Turning to Joseph, Khassim said, "Good thing that you arrived at this time. Kamir went to the Palace to get the Emir's latest instructions. I suspect that we shall be leaving tomorrow."

        Joseph nodded. "Then, we'll have all the privacy we need."

        Khassim waved the two men in. "Come! I will take you to him."

        Joseph quickly interrupted, "There is no need, Khassim. Just stand watch, my friend. There are many eyes watching in the city tonight. And we need to be warned of Kamir's arrival."

        Khassim simply nodded his head and strode off into the garden.

        As the two men walked on, Methos found himself disturbed by the building's design. Covering a large area and only two storeys high, it obviously housed many rooms. But the windows were too small, covered by intricate latticework that it was impossible to see through.

        The minute they entered, the Immortal smelled the heady aroma of perfume and incense. They went through a small corridor with closed rooms on both sides. At the end of the hallway was a huge public bath. The floors were tiled with marble. Steps led down into the scented pool. Lilies floated on the water.

        "What is this place?" Methos couldn't help but ask. "It looks like a harem."

        Joseph opened another small door. Glancing back at the Immortal, he replied, "As a matter of fact, yes, it is."

        "For a royal whorehouse," Methos remarked, "there seems to be a lack of activity."

        "My young Master...he is a power unto himself." The scribe said this with obvious pride. "Since he came to El Djezair, he had all but taken complete control of the harem, much to the chagrin of the Sultan. But the Sultan eventually saw things his way."

        "I don't understand."

        Joseph laughed. "Before we came here, this harem was a war zone. The concubines constantly bickered, or worse, fought among themselves as to who was the Sultan's favorite. Just imagine it -- a household of very unhappy women all enamored over one man. Even the Sultan himself was having difficulty controlling them. What my Master did was to divide the women into groups, allotting a specific day for each group to visit the Palace. Sometimes, he changes the schedules depending upon the needs of the Sultan, but he always makes certain that each woman gets to go to the palace, at least once a week. This way, none of the women get neglected. Each gets to spend time with their beloved Sultan. Since each of the women possesses...special skills, the Sultan's always guaranteed a variety to keep him interested. Of course, my young Master is adamant about assigning a day of rest for the women, like today -- a day wherein they could just be themselves and forget their roles as royal prostitutes. Even the Sultan benefits from this day of rest as well -- no kingdom to worry about, no women to bother him with their petty rivalries."

        "But what about the days when the women are supposed to go to the Palace?"

        "That is the best part," Joseph beamed. "My Master has discovered that the concubines have other, more important, skills. Some are excellent weavers, painters or pottery makers. Others are wonderful cooks. Many of the older mistresses are healers. He thought it a shame that such great talents were being  wasted. Without discussing it with anyone, my master opened the doors of the harem to the poor citizens of El Djezair. He assigned specific tasks to the women to make them productive, and especially to give them back that feeling of self-worth. Those who excel in handicrafts taught the wives in the city. The healers treated the sick, and passed on their knowledge to the young women. The Sultan's oldest mistress taught little children how to read and told them stories."

        "This is unprecedented!" Methos gaped at Joseph in shock. "How did the Sultan react to this?"

        "At first, he was very angry. He even ordered that my Master be put to the lash for his impertinence. En masse, the concubines went to the Palace and spoke in my Master's defense, saying that they found pleasure and fulfillment in serving the Sultan's subjects. Not only that, the people themselves have expressed their joy that their great ruler had sent his beautiful wives to alleviate some of their hardships and give them hope. The Sultan saw the import of my Master's wisdom and ordered that he be released to oversee the running of his estate while he is still in El Djezair."

        "You and Khassim speak very fondly of him," the Immortal commented, before quickly adding, "for a whoremaster."

        "It's not just us. All the people who live within these walls love him. He means a lot to everyone here. Even the Sultan has seen his great worth. Unfortunately, the esteemed ruler could do nothing, since my Master is the valued...servant...of his good friend, the Emir. The Emir is a very powerful man among the desert tribes. The Sultan could not risk an all-out war with the Bedouin over a servant."

        Methos said thoughtfully, "Is he truly that important to you?"

        "More than you know. Khassim is not the only one willing to die for him." Joseph looked sharply at the Immortal. "I will not allow that he be hurt in anyway, as well as the whore he is tasked to protect."

        The ancient grinned. "You have gotten my curiosity piqued, and it's not just because of your mysterious master. My instincts are telling me that our elusive friend, the ninja, is a member of this caravan. There is more to this situation than meets the eye. If there is anything I love more than getting my revenge, it's solving an intriguing mystery."

        "Revenge?" Joseph frowned.

        "That is my business, I'm afraid. Not yours." Methos clapped his hands in eagerness. "Well, when do I meet this Master of yours?"

        They stopped before two large doors. "Perhaps sooner than you think."

        It was then that Methos felt it -- a faint vibration in the air, like the gentle wind being elicited by a butterfly's flapping wings upon his face.

        Joseph flung the doors open for the Immortal. Methos saw that it was a receiving chamber for important guests. There was a large chair on the dais, a smaller seat at its right side. But Methos' eyes focused upon the figure sitting on the steps.

        Like Khassim, the man was dressed in Arab garments. But from head to toe, he was all in black. He wore a turban on his head, the tail covering his face, that only his piercing dark eyes could be seen. The man had no idea that he was a Pre-Immortal.

        "You could have used the chairs," the ancient suggested.

        The man was obviously taken aback by that statement. His head fell back as he laughed, his voice a rich baritone. He then stood up with flawless grace.

        "Do you want to know the language of chairs?" the man asked him as he went up the dais. Going towards the larger seat, he placed his left hand on the armrest while laying his right elbow on the back. "It would be presumptuous of me to sit in this chair since I am not the true master of this harem."

        "And the one on the right?" queried Methos.

        There was bitterness in the man's voice as he went behind the smaller chair. "Just a cruel reminder of your actual place in the grand scheme of things." He changed the subject. "But we're not here to talk about chairs."

        Methos cocked an eyebrow up. "What are we going to talk about exactly?"

        Disregarding his earlier statement, the man sat in the large chair. "I need a teacher, and I was hoping you would be the one."

        The Immortal was confused by this statement. "Teach you what?"

        "The art of the sword."

        It was Methos' turn to be caught by surprise. "Why me? Why not Khassim?"

        "Khassim's knowledge of the sword is very limited. I've had other teachers. But it's still not enough. I want to learn from a Master and an Immortal, like you, Methos."

        "I don't understand. You lead a very sheltered life. Why do you need to learn swords work?"

        The man let out a wistful sigh. "Because I have no intention of living the rest of my life like this. I have been denied my true destiny long enough."

        "And what is your 'true destiny'?"

        "That is no longer your concern," the man said curtly.

        "Where will I teach you?" asked Methos. "If you want me to teach you in secret, it would be difficult in the desert. And you need a blade."

        "That won't be a problem. There are places in the desert where we could spar in secrecy. I cannot keep a fixed schedule, however, on account of my duties. When I find the time, which will usually be at night, I will ask Joseph or Khassim to fetch you, or I shall do so myself. An hour or two would suffice. I am a fast learner." The man paused. "As for a sword, you may think I have none, but I do, though I do not carry it out in the open. The minute they see me with a blade, they will confiscate it and have me flogged. I am not allowed to bear a sword, you see." He gave a wry laugh. "I guess they're afraid that I might hurt myself."

        "Do you want to do that?" Methos asked. "Hurt yourself?"

        "There was a time when I contemplated it," the man admitted. "But I cannot fulfill my destiny if I'm dead now, can I? At this moment...well, I think my Master and his...associates...should be concerned about my hurting THEM more than anything else."

        A grin quirked up Methos' lips. "I love a cunning fellow! However, there is something more to this...arrangement. Something I find...suspicious."

        With a quick nod to Joseph, the scribe came forward and handed his Master a pouch, who then held it out to Methos. Taking it, the Immortal looked inside and saw that it was filled with gold.

        "I intend to make it worth your while. Aside from  leading the caravan, Methos, I am willing to pay you with gold for the lessons," the man stated firmly. "Also, you may avail of the...services...provided here this evening. I have heard you recently lost your beloved wife. A lonely man needs comforting in a warm bed."

        At these words, three robed woman emerged from the shadows. The torchlight seductively silhouetted their naked forms within their billowing garments.

        Methos shook his head. "No. I need no women."

        There was silence as the man looked at him. Standing up, he said, "Perhaps...you have other tastes. You seek variety this time around."

        Before the Immortal could answer  in the negative, the man gestured to Joseph once more. "Take him to the special chamber."

        It seemed to Methos that the scribe knew what his Master was talking about, "But, Master..."

        "He is a guest in this, our temporary home, Joseph," he answered softly, with such weariness in his voice. "I want him entertained, to see exactly what we could offer him." He bowed to the Immortal. "Please accept my hospitality, Methos. So you could seriously consider my request."

        Before he could leave, Methos exclaimed. "Wait!" The man looked at him curiously. "If I should decide to teach you, what should I call you? You already know my name."

        "You want to know my name?" He thought for a moment. "You may just call me 'Shinno'."

        "Shinno..." the ancient tested the name on his tongue. "The Japanese word for 'prince'."

        Methos felt a gentle tug on his arm. Joseph stood at his side, motioning to him that they should leave. The ancient was about to accord the whoremaster a gracious bow, but he stopped when he saw that Shinno was gone, the movement of the curtains marking his departure.

 

        As the two men walked deeper into the harem, Methos commented, "I was going to say 'yes'."

        "It doesn't matter," Joseph assured him. "Shinno is right. You are a guest here. Even if you had answered 'no,' we couldn't allow your not seeing the services we provide here."

        Methos laughed. "'Services'? You must mean prostitution."

        "I do not want to call it that exactly. But then again, in a way, that is true." Joseph gazed disappointingly at the Immortal beside him. "But may I remind you that the people here did not choose to be this way. Fate and circumstances forced them to live like this." He looked knowingly at Methos. "If I remember correctly, in your distant past, you were once a prostitute yourself."

        "But there are always choices, Joseph. They could leave this kind of life if they wanted to, like I have done."

        "If the master is a kind and loving one like the Sultan, I doubt that." The scribe shook his head. "But not if they have a master like the Emir."

        Soon, they stopped before a small door.

        "Where are we, Joseph?" Methos' voice was suddenly hushed. "Who's in there?"

        There was a sad, little smile on the scribe's face. "Only the best we have to offer."

        When Joseph opened the door, the Immortal found himself inside a beautiful chamber. A large fountain and a scented bath were constructed in one corner. Another corner held a small library with an assortment of books and an escritoire. Methos couldn't help but grimace as his eyes fell upon two racks, filled with an assortment of devilish-looking devices and chains. He knew immediately what they were used for.

        Noticing what caught the Immortal's eye. Joseph remarked, "The Sultan is known for his perverse tastes."

        "I could see that."

        It was then that Methos saw the huge four-poster bed. With its great size, he had no doubt that, at the most, six people could lie in it. But at this moment, only one was lying on the bed, covered by a white sheet that was tacked securely to the wooden frame. Whether it was female or male, the Immortal could not tell from the dim torchlight. Judging from the coils of silk around the four posts of the bed, Methos knew the person was tied.

        Turning to the scribe, the Immortal asked, "Don't tell me that this is...""

        Going towards the bed, Joseph revealed, "The Emir's favorite. Born deaf and dumb, but the flesh speaks more than words. However, under no circumstances are you allowed to behold the face of the Emir's concubine, nor that of Shinno's. That pleasure is reserved for the Emir alone."

        "The Emir may not like me bedding his prized whore," mused the Immortal.

        "He will never know, I assure you. There are small tears on the sheet. You may put your hands through them and examine and use my lord's concubine to your heart's desire."

        For awhile, Methos could not move. Despite his hesitation, he slowly raised his hand and slid it through the tear where he could discern a face.

        At once, his hand encountered a soft, smooth cheek. His fingers caressed the bone, going down to the ear, tracing the shape. Then, Methos felt silky hair that disappeared down that strong back.

        Releasing the strands, Methos' hand went over the neck, feeling a distinct prominence over the throat.

        "He's a man!" the ancient exclaimed in shock.

        Joseph asked in dismay. "Is he not to your liking?"

        But as Methos' fingers cupped the other cheek, the man turned his face to his open palm and pressed his lips to it in a most gentle kiss. He rubbed his face against the Immortal's hand, like a puppy nuzzling on his master's hand. Methos gasped as his middle finger was captured by pillowy soft lips and the tip sucked on.

        As that talented mouth worked on his finger, Methos felt the tongue lick the length. The lips moved.

_        Please!_ Methos swore that was the word being formed on those lips. _PLEASE!_

        Gently, the Immortal pulled his hand out of the man's mouth and through the tear.

        Removing his clothing slowly, Methos answered the question Joseph had asked him earlier. "We shall see."

        With a bow, the scribe retreated to the curtains in the far corner of the room. Methos knew Joseph had not left yet and was keeping an eye on the Emir's prized whore. But for now, this exquisite creature was his.

        When he had stripped, Methos climbed up on the bed, straddling the writhing form. Finding two large tears, he reached both his hands through, tracing the lines of the strong arms to the silken ties around his wrists. Descending, his palms cupped the hard mounds of his chest, his fingers playing with the sprinkling of soft down. When his hands found the tiny nipples, the body beneath him twitched.

        Methos stretched out on the bed. His lips caressed the covered face, smelling the delicious scent of apples, jasmine and incense. As he kissed the man, his fingers played with the nipples, pulling and pinching them into hardened nubs. Judging from the reactions he was eliciting from the body beneath him, the whore had not expected to pleasure an experienced lover. And, truly, Methos was a master at many things.

        Both men were aroused by the passions consuming them. Their cocks had hardened, thrusting eagerly like a pair of swords in a duel, the fabric of the sheet, the only thing keeping them at bay.

        As Methos' hips moved, his member found a tear between the man's legs. With a twist of his body, he slipped his cock through the tear, his weeping tip brushing against a thigh.

        Then, from behind the curtains, a concerned Joseph requested, "Please be gentle with him, my friend."

        Recalling at last who he was bedding, Methos felt anger rise inside him as the memories came flooding back. One dark night. The lord of the keep. A little boy. A most painful betrayal. Methos gritted his teeth, wanting to get even, to strike out. The man beneath him -- the favorite catamite of the lord's best friend -- was an excellent target.

        In a rage, Methos gripped the opening in the sheet between his legs and tore it wide open. The man gasped as his legs were forced wide apart. Then, a pain-filled cry was wrenched from his throat as he was brutally penetrated. The whore tried to pull away, but Methos crushed him in a bear hug. His left hand felt a rough mark on the man's right shoulder.

        "What is happening?" Joseph declared as he emerged from his hiding place. His eyes widened in shock, seeing the rough coupling of the two men. Raising a hand to Methos, he pleaded, "No! Do not hurt him! Stop!"

        But Methos was beyond hearing. Freeing the silken ties, with fierce strength, he yanked the man onto his lap, tearing the sheet from its moorings. The whore screamed as he was impaled upon the Immortal's hard member. As Methos continued his frenzied thrusts, the whore whimpered in pain, tears falling from his eyes. The Immortal cursed the lights that had burned down, wanting to see the face of the whore he was ravishing. Nevertheless, he still found those soft lips, insinuating his tongue between them, raping the whore's mouth as he was raping his channel below.

        With a grunt and a final thrust, Methos spilled his fluids into the man. A vicious twist and he yanked himself out of the whore, tearing his flesh even more. The man collapsed on the bed, sobbing, wrapping the torn sheet around him.

        "You're right, Joseph," Methos sneered at the distraught scholar, who was painfully making his way towards the figure on the bed. "He IS to my liking."

        Tears were falling from Joseph's eyes as he sat down on the bed. He gasped, seeing the flecks of blood on the sheets, when he pulled the young man up and into his embrace.

        "Why did you hurt him?" Joseph demanded. "He only wanted to please you!"

        "And he did please me!"

        At that moment, Khassim barged into the room. "What is going on? What's the meaning of this?" The man's eyes widened, seeing the pitiful state of the Emir's concubine. Snarling at Methos, he declared, "I shall have your head for this!"

        Strong, desperate hands squeezed Joseph's arms tightly. He gazed down at the young man in his embrace, who quickly shook his head and gave the scribe's shoulders a frantic shake.

        Although his feelings warred against that silent command, Joseph exclaimed, "Khassim, lay down your sword! Our Master...ordered...this."

        At first, Khassim hesitated. Then, the whore turned his head slightly. Although much of his face was covered by the torn bed sheet, the moor could see those sable eyes staring sharply at him. With a grunt of disapproval, Khassim sheathed his sword.

        Donning his clothes, Methos told the scribe, "Tell your Master I will teach him the art of the sword for ten pieces of gold each night, and, for my silence over his clandestine lessons..." He pointed to the weeping young man. "I want him for my bed every night during our journey through the desert, which will be after our lessons." Bowing low, the Immortal declared, "I shall see Shinno tomorrow evening then, Joseph."

        "Take him to his chamber, Khassim," Joseph requested. He hastily added, "His safety is your responsibility."

        The moor would have glowered at the scribe if the whore had not given him a much more menacing glare.

        As Methos strode out, he waved his hand dismissingly. "Do not bother to rise." With a lascivious wink at the whore, he said, "I shall see you again, my sweet."

        Methos did not bother to look back as Khassim closed the door behind them. If he had, he would have seen dark eyes staring at him, burning with fierce hatred.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**CHAPTER TWO**

 

        The cock had yet to crow, but the harem was already alive with a flurry of activity as the caravan made preparations for its departure.

        A light sleeper, Methos had awaken immediately to the sound of neighing horses in the courtyard. Swiftly donning traveling clothes, he grabbed his pack and opened the door to find Joseph standing outside, about to knock. With him was a stern-faced Indian with piercing black eyes. In his haste to get ready, the ancient had not sensed the aura of Immortality surrounding this man.

        "This is the Emir's trusted adviser, Kamir," Joseph introduced him.

        Kamir pressed his two palms before his chest in the traditional greeting of his homeland and bowed. "We came to awaken you, but I see that you are ready." The Indian was pleased with Methos' preparedness. "Forgive me if I was not here to welcome you upon your arrival last night. I went to the Palace to get my lord's instructions for this journey. I shall brief you on the way."

        Smiling, the ancient replied, "Thank you. I need to know what the Emir's plans for this journey are. I have crossed the Sahara many times, but it would help to know if we shall be facing any dangers along the way."

        "And you shall get your answers later on."

        Nodding, Methos invited, "For now, let's inspect the caravan, shall we?"

        In the next two hours, Methos was joined by Khassim, as Kamir and Joseph went to see to the Emir's precious whore. Under their watchful eye and stern command, the servants loaded the camels with supplies, covering them with thick canvas as protection from sandstorms that they might encounter in the desert. All of the camels had water skins secured to their saddles, and the moor made certain that none of the casks had any leaks. Methos, on the other hand, inspected all the horses, making sure that their fittings were not too tight as to cause them discomfort during the long journey. The only comfortable means of transport that they have was a special carriage which was allotted to the Emir's precious concubine, but Methos doubted if it would get through the trek without its wheels ending up buried in the sand.

        The ancient was about to check the carriage anyway when the sound of weeping caught his ears.

        Noting Methos' curious frown, Khassim remarked, "The Sultan's wives and mistresses...they weep over my Master's departure this morn."

        "They love him that much?" the ancient asked in surprise.

        "More than you know," the moor answered cryptically.

        Suddenly, Joseph appeared at the side door. "The Sultan!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "He's here!"

        "Go on!" Khassim urged the Immortal. "I will take care of things here."

        Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Methos hurried into the harem, with Joseph at his heels.

        Entering the receiving chamber, they beheld Kamir on his hands and knees, bowing before the regal form of the Sultan. After giving obeisance to this Moslem king, Kamir stood up, eyes still lowered to the floor and stepped to the side.

        Then, Shinno himself came forward. The whoremaster was dressed all in black once more, his face covered by the silk tail of his turban. His whole form was in the proper reverential position. However, before he could kneel at the ruler's feet, the Sultan held Shinno's shoulders in a firm grasp and willed him to stand. To the astonishment of everyone, the Sultan drew the young man close and embraced him. At first, Shinno hesitated, but the ruler whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was the Sultan said to him, it caused the whoremaster to raise his arms and return that loving hug. Ending the embrace, the Sultan carefully peeled off the silk covering Shinno's face, opening it part way that only he could fully see the young man's features. The Sultan then leaned forward and bestowed a tender kiss upon Shinno's lips. A shocked gasp issued from everyone's mouths. Even Methos found this whole scene surreal. For the ruler to give this lowly whoremaster a kiss was not merely a sign of his favor, but also that he treated Shinno as an equal.

        Still, Shinno remembered his true status. When the Sultan replaced the silk over his face, he got down on his hands and knees and humbly kissed the sandaled toes of the king. When he stood up, Shinno dared to look the ruler straight in the eye.

        Instead of becoming angry at this insolence, the Sultan smiled and gave the young man a small bow. In heavily accented English, he said, "May Allah go with you!"

        To Methos' surprise, Shinno clenched his right hand into a fist, his right arm bent at the elbow, lying parallel to his chest. With his left hand, he gripped his fist. The whoremaster then bowed, the traditional greeting of a Japanese warrior to his honored teacher or master.

        "Salaam, my lord!" Shinno said in all sincerity. "May Allah always bless and protect you, your family and your kingdom!"

        At this farewell, the whoremaster took his place at Kamir's side. Bowing three times to the Sultan, the two men turned on their heels and strode towards the main doors. For a moment, Methos caught Shinno's eye, but the young man did not acknowledge him.

        With a wave to Joseph, who hurried towards him, Methos followed the whoremaster and the Emir's adviser. The ancient saw that the Sultan's mistresses and harem servants had lined up along the corridor. All the women had tears in their eyes as they granted Shinno gracious curtseys as he passed by. The young man did not return their greeting, keeping his eyes lowered. Apparently, he had already said his goodbyes. But Methos could see how difficult it was for Shinno to restrain his emotions. The whoremaster obviously held a deep love for these people.

        "How long did you live here?" Methos asked the scribe at his side.

        "Five months," Joseph answered in turn.

        The ancient lapsed into silence. Five months... A very short time. But still sufficient enough to create a major impact upon the Sultan and his kingdom. The Emir's whoremaster truly must be a very special man.

        Not wanting to prolong these painful farewells, Shinno quickened his pace, moving ahead of a surprised and clearly displeased Kamir. Without saying a single word to anyone, he all but ran into the courtyard, and climbed aboard the carriage.

        Before getting into the carriage as well, Kamir called out to Methos, "Lead us on, Horseman!" Seeing the scribe with the ancient, he waved, "Joseph!"

        "Wait!" Methos exclaimed to the scribe before he could go. "What about the Emir's concubine?"

        It was Khassim who answered. "He is already inside the carriage. We have been waiting for you while you were in audience with the Sultan."

        The question escaped Methos' lips before he even realized it. "Is...is he all right?"

        Joseph's brows cocked up in surprise. Remembering what happened last night, the scribe answered in anger, "Why should you care about him?" He then limped inside the carriage and shut the door, pulling the curtains close.

        Methos gritted his teeth at Joseph's reply. With a snort, he got onto his horse, Khassim doing the same beside him. Surveying the caravan, he saw that all was in readiness. The two Immortals urged their horses forward, taking their positions on either side of the royal carriage.

        Glancing at the shadows within, Methos pouted in seething anger. Joseph was right. Why should he care about a whore?

        The ancient raised his hand. With a wave forward, he shouted, "LET'S MOVE OUT!"

        At this command, the caravan embarked on their long journey -- going through the dawn streets of El Djezair, out the city walls, heading for the barren wasteland of the Sahara.

 

        The sun was high above their heads when Kamir descended from the carriage. Taking the dappled mare, the Indian rode alongside Methos to brief him on the journey ahead. It did not surprise the ancient to say the least when Kamir told him that they would be avoiding many of the small towns along their route. In fact, it was the Emir's strict order that they should keep to the desert and mountain ranges along the way, and steer clear of any human contact.

        "It seems your Master is intent on making this journey as difficult as possible," Methos commented. "So far, we're still in the fertile lands. But once we reach the desert, I don't think his precious concubine could survive the trek."

        "In truth, he is the real reason for this arduous route we shall be taking," Kamir revealed to him. "The Emir has many enemies and they would stand to gain a king's ransom if they're able to capture my Master's prized whore. Thankfully, this route would take us to the territories of the Bedouin tribes in friendly relations with the Emir. We should be safe."

        "That is, if the desert doesn't kill us first," the ancient said thoughtfully.

        "Another thing that is not likely to happen. That is why he chose you. Aside from your Horse Brothers, you know this region like the back of your hand."

        "The Emir puts too much faith in me. It's been two centuries since I last crossed the Sahara. If there's one thing I've learned about the desert is that it's alive, the landscape never the same with every passage through it. Important landmarks come and go. Wells and oases dry up. A hostile environment for those who are unfamiliar with its territory."

        Kamir gave Methos a thoughtful glance. "You sound as if you are concerned about the Emir's concubine."

        "Why shouldn't I be?" Methos answered back. "I do not want such a precious cargo dying along the way. It would not look good for my reputation."

        The Indian laughed at that remark. "True! That is oh so true! But you need not worry too much about this particular whore. In fact, he is not to be underestimated."

        The ancient looked at Kamir curiously. "Why do you say that?"

        "The Emir's concubine is...there is no other word to describe him...unique. He is surrounded by such a powerful aura of character and goodness, which the Emir sought to corrupt. It was my Master's desire that he learn all the sensual arts. For years, we have traveled all over the world. He has been taught by the best courtesans, both male and female. However, although his body has been used and used in so many ways possible, his soul remains pure. His honor remains intact. It is this quality that has attracted...allies...to his cause, friends who would not see such an innocent sullied and broken. Good friends who would do anything to free him. We nearly came close to losing him in Japan."

        "Well, he'd better think twice about escaping while I'm here," Methos said firmly. "I do not tolerate disobedience or insolence in slaves."

        "Which is why the Emir specifically chose you above your Horse Brothers," Kamir put in. "You have prior...experience...in these matters. My Master is hoping that you could teach his whore a lesson or two."

        "Are you saying that he is allowing me to bed him?"

        "And beat him if there is a need for it. I have bedded the Emir's whore on several occasions myself, and saw the necessity of pounding some sense into him as well. As I have often heard during our travels -- 'Spare not the rod!'"

        Methos lapsed into deep thought, recalling how he had taken the Emir's concubine last night. Unlike what Kamir had described, the whore had been compliant. Even when he had raped him, the young man had meekly given him free rein to use his flesh as he wished. This rebellious attitude was more apt to the Emir's whoremaster, Shinno.

        Before he could ask who Kamir was referring to, the Indian had given him a small bow, saying "I must see to my young charge in the carriage," and rode off.

        A frown knitted Methos' brow. There was something not right. Indeed, a mystery was afoot here, and he had every intention of solving it.

 

        It was late afternoon when the caravan arrived at their first stop -- an oasis miles past the city of Djelfa.

        Under Kamir's stern command, the servants hastened to erect the large tent that would serve as the temporary lodgings of the Emir's concubine, while their Masters waited inside the carriage.

        Methos, who was supervising the unloading of some of the supplies with Khassim, watched out of the corner of his eye as the servants raised the circular tent. Instead of a simple opening in front, the tent had three large flaps. The first two flaps were extended forward and secured with two posts and ropes tied to pegs, that were hammered into the ground. The third length of canvas was unrolled on top of these two flaps and kept in place by more ropes, creating a makeshift portico. The true entrance to the tent itself, which was at the end of the portico, was covered by another flap of canvas.

        As the ancient looked on, the carriage was wheeled very close to the portico. Such was its construction that he could not see the people descending from the carriage. Just as the driver urged his horses onward, serving women hurried inside, bearing supplies and jars and a tub filled with water.

        An elbow nudged his side. Methos turned to find Khassim grinning at him. "Come, my friend! There is nothing more to see."

        But just as the two Immortals were about to walk off to oversee the rest of the caravan, angry voices issued from within the tent. Methos stopped at once, recognizing the voices as belonging to Kamir and Shinno. Surprisingly, the two men were not speaking in Arabic, but in Hindi. Before he could quickly translate inside his head what they were arguing about, Shinno stormed outside, an equally angry Kamir in hot pursuit. The adviser grabbed the young man's arm, but Shinno shook it off. Again, Kamir snatched the whoremaster's arm.

        Rounding on the Indian, Shinno shouted, "We are not prisoners, Kamir, to be kept locked up and under guard at all times! A breath of fresh air, a short walk, a moment to be left alone... Is that too much to ask? Just take a good look at where we are? Even a fool would think twice about escaping into the inferno of the desert!"

        "But you are not a fool!" Kamir snapped back. "Kali only knows what schemes are running through that pretty little head of yours!"

        The whoremaster burst into derisive laughter. "I am happy to hear that you don't think me a fool, like your beloved lord, the Emir Zaid al-Bahir." Shinno spat out the name with contempt. "A fool is he to let his prized whore travel the world and let strangers pick off his sweet flesh, instead of him who is the true master. What kind of fool is your Master, Kamir? Is he a dog who loves to eat the scraps that fall to the floor from a feast? Is he the type who prefers his manhood sheathed inside a channel that had been bruised and battered and slickened by the fluids of others? Perhaps he is not much of a man at all if he could not sow his own seed in the barren flesh of his precious male whore!"

        Methos' eyes widened in shock as Kamir struck Shinno in the face, causing the whoremaster to fall to the sand. He watched in horror as the adviser pulled out the small whip tucked under his belt.

        Before the Indian could land a single blow upon the young man, the ancient rushed forward and stopped the descent of that whip.

        "Kamir, no!" Methos cried. "It won't do you any good to mark him!"

        Grudgingly, Kamir lowered his arm. Pulling Methos aside, he hissed, "You know that he is one of us, although not yet born to Immortality. He will not have any marks on him, even if I have him flogged. For a Pre-Immortal, he heals quickly and completely, as though he were already Immortal."

        "Even so, the Emir would not like having his lowly servants injured in any way."

        "But he sorely tries my patience!"

        "Let me handle him, Kamir," Methos suggested. "Your Master trusts in my ability to manage his affairs with regards to his precious concubine. I could do the same with this little hothead." With a sly smile, he added, "Even whoremasters need to be disciplined from time to time."

        There was a bewildered expression on Kamir's face. "Whoremaster? But he is..."

        Khassim suddenly interrupted, "As Methos said, let him take care of this, my lord. I trust that he could produce the results we desire."

        As the moor led him away, Kamir declared out loud, more for the whoremaster's benefit than the ancient's, "If you should find it difficult to control that arrogant little harlot, I could erect a whipping post for you myself."

        Methos cocked an eyebrow up in surprise when a contemptuous voice muttered, "Hah! You couldn't bring your cock to stand erect on your own, how much more a whipping post!"

_        So,_ Methos thought in amusement, _Our little whoremaster is a whore himself!_

        Thankfully, Kamir did not hear that retort. When the two Immortals were finally gone, the ancient focused his attention on the young man spitting out blood a few feet away from him. The whoremaster had partially removed the tail of his turban from his face. Though most of his face was still hidden, Methos was gratified by the sight of full lips.

        Noting the Immortal's perusal, Shinno swiftly draped the length of black silk over his face and neck. With deep brown eyes flashing daggers, he demanded, "And what are you looking at?"

        "A fool," Methos replied casually, approaching him. "A very brave one, but still a fool nonetheless."

        The ancient offered a hand to the young man. Shinno, however, ignored it and got up on his own.

        With a snort, the whoremaster bent down and brushed the sand from his clothes. "I would greatly appreciate it if Kamir would do us both a favor and just stay out of my personal affairs."

        "He is just doing his duty, you know," Methos smiled broadly. Although Shinno's trousers were rather loose, his position caused the fabric to be stretched below the waist, revealing a nice, tight ass.

        "Well, it looks like he has passed on his responsibilities to you, although after what you did last night, I seriously doubt if this is to my liking. But at least, now, you could teach me the art of the sword without him tailing us like a dog."

        "I, particularly, am very pleased with this present arrangement. I personally do not mind following a tail as magnificent as yours."

        Blushing hotly, Shinno made to slap Methos, but the ancient grabbed his wrist.

        "Let go of me!" Shinno exclaimed between gritted teeth as he tried to pull his hand free.

        In a quick move, however, Methos twisted the younger man's arm behind his back and jerked him close.

        "It would do you well, Shinno, to be on your best behavior when you're around me," the ancient said in warning. "Unlike Kamir, I am not a very patient man. I will not hesitate to punish you."

        "In case you've forgotten, I'm paying you to teach me. You do not displease or hurt your employer."

        "Employer? My dear boy, you are my student. As your teacher, it is also my duty to keep you in line. The way I see it, you've been pampered for far too long. You need to be disciplined."

        "I'm not afraid -- of you or your threats!"

        "Oh, but you should!" Pressing his cheek close to the whoremaster's, the black silk the only thing preventing the contact of skin against skin, Methos whispered, "Do you know what I was called when I was still with the Horsemen? I was Death, and you know why?"

        With a "Harrumph!", Shinno turned his face away, his whole body stiffening. Haughtily, he declared, "I couldn't care less, but I think you're still going to tell me anyway."

        Methos wanted to laugh at that retort, but willed himself not to. "That's because I know an infinite number of ways to end a man's life -- swift and painless, slow and agonizing... I know them all. I could even take the credit for inventing many of these fiendish methods."

        "You can't kill me! The Emir will have your head!"

        "Of course, I couldn't do that! But I could torture you, and that has always been my specialty. Torture that could lead to a most exquisite kind of death, wherein one does not even have to give up his life."

        The whoremaster sneered at him, "Ooh! I'm shaking in my boots!"

        But Methos ignored the wisecrack. "Let's take, as an example, Kamir's favorite -- flogging. I'm sure you've heard of people who find sexual gratification when someone hurts them, whips them."

        "Well, I'm NOT one of them. I've never been a connoisseur of pain."

        "That's because the pain is all you feel. Why don't you look at it this way?" Before the young man could argue, Methos had pushed him towards the palm tree. "Let's imagine that this tree is a flogging post. Although most...executioners...allow a prisoner to retain a modicum of propriety by having his loins covered, I've always preferred a prisoner completely naked...vulnerable. I would take his wrists and secure it to an iron ring above his head. I would approach the prisoner, stand so close to him that anyone would think I was hearing his confession. But in truth, I am fondling, stroking his sex until it is as hard as an iron rod. To keep it in that state, I would tie a leather cord at the base of his manroot. That gives the prisoner two things to worry about -- the flogging and the intense desire for release."

        As he spoke, the ancient carefully raised Shinno's hands high above his head. It pleased Methos immensely to see that the whoremaster remained in that position, his hands gripping the tree trunk behind him. Truly he was caught in the Immortal's spell.

        "Now that my prisoner is ready for me," Methos continued in low tones, "I take my whip. My first few strokes are light and teasing, nothing more than mere licks on his torso."

        Shinno gasped as the ancient tore his shirt open, baring his upper body, but still he did not move, even when the Immortal cupped his chest.

        "The nipples are especially sensitive, the caresses of my lash causing them to rise into taut little peaks. Aching to be touched. Yearning to be punished." Methos flicked Shinno's tits with his fingertips, eliciting whimpers from the whoremaster's lips with every brief stimulation. "But of course, I cannot be gentle forever. After all, cruelty is expected of me, and in this case, you have to be cruel to be kind. So, my hand tightens around the whip."

        Shinno nearly jumped in surprise when the ancient suddenly clapped his hands, the sound like the sharp crack of a whip.

        "That first hard blow always catches my prisoner off-guard. But does he feel pain? Oh, no! To his dismay, he discovers that the pain and pleasure have become one, the bliss concentrated on his aching cock and bruised nipples. I never let his manroot suffer the wrath of my lash, leaving it wanting for more. His tits, however, are a different matter. I allow my lash to cut deeply into those sensitive patches till they bleed, like cruel fingers squeezing them as a child squeezes a cow's udders for its milk."

        As he said this, Methos squeezed Shinno's nipples, pulling and twisting on the tight nubs. It surprised the ancient, to say the least, when, as the young man before him moaned, milk spurted from the tips. He took the pearly white drop on his fingertip and placed it inside his mouth, tasting the sweet essence of the younger man. It pleased the Immortal even more when he felt the whoremaster's erection brush against his thigh.

        Swiftly, the ancient spun Shinno around that he was now facing the tree. "No more play. No more teasing. No more gentleness. Every stroke of the lash creates bleeding welts, transforming the skin of his back into a canvas of dark red crisscrossing lines. Now, there is excruciating pain. But, surprisingly, there is pleasure as well."

        Methos gripped the young man's hips, his voice sinuous, willing both their bodies into the graceful motions of copulation. "As the whip cuts through his flesh, his body arches with every bite of the lash. To get his mind off the whip's sting, he lets his nipples press against the post, every contact sending signals of pleasure shooting down to his constricted groin. With graceful undulations, he moves his hips, the length of his erect cock scraping against the post. He yearns for release, but the blows continue to come. When I see that he couldn't take any more, I remove the cord around his stiff manroot and grip it tight, still denying him the desperate urge to spill his seed."

        Saying this, Methos freed Shinno's cock from within his trousers, holding the shaft hard. The young man whimpered, lost in the ancient's seductive narration.

        The Immortal couldn't suppress the smile that formed on his face. Slowly, he raised his hand, saying at the same time, "He wants his release. He is begging for it. It is agonizing and pure ecstasy at the same time. I turn the whip in my hand, so that the handle is now facing forward. With one swift motion...I RAM THE HILT STRAIGHT INTO HIS ASS!"

        Shinno squealed in surprise and pain when the ancient spanked him fiercely on the butt. To his utter revulsion, he found himself spurting his seed onto the bark of the palm tree.

        The stinging slap that Shinno bestowed upon his cheek did nothing to stop the laughter from bubbling up Methos' throat. The little of Shinno's face that was exposed revealed the dark red flush of his skin. Embarrassed and very angry, the whoremaster stuffed his now flaccid sex within the confines of his trousers, a barrage of multilingual expletives spilling from his mouth.

        As he stormed in the direction of the large tent, a giggling Methos called after him, "It would be a great pleasure for me to teach you new tricks with the sword, Shinno!"

        Shinno whirled around. Before Methos could duck, a rock hit him squarely between the eyes. But still, he continued to roar with laughter.

        Like a petulant child, the whoremaster raised the silk a bit. "Beeeh!" Shinno stuck his tongue out at the ancient.

        With righteous indignation, the young man marched inside his tent, Methos' hearty laughter ringing in his ears.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**CHAPTER THREE**

 

        Night had fallen on the oasis. After sharing an evening repast with Kamir and Khassim in the adviser's tent, where they had discussed any potential problems and dangers they might encounter on their route, Methos decided to take a stroll around the camp. It was not because he wanted to be certain that all was well, which it was with all the servants and guards resting in their tents, except for the two who stood before the concubine's lodgings. The next shift will come after two hours. The reason why he dilly dallied was because he wanted to be ready for his lesson with Shinno. As the hours wore on, however, there was no indication that this particular service of him was needed this night. There was only silence at the large tent. Joseph had not been seen all day. Methos suspected that the whoremaster was still very angry with him. Such a shame! He was so looking forward to another evening with the Emir's precious whore.

        Rather than wait any longer, the ancient went straight to his tent, where a tub of clean water waited for him. After a quick bath, Methos collapsed onto the soft cushions and immediately fell asleep.

        Exhausted as he was, he did not sense the shadow that was creeping outside his tent. Neither did he hear the soft tearing sound of the canvas as it was being slit open. Methos was lost in a blissful dream of two masked whores driving him insane with their sexual expertise. One of the whores was a stubborn little minx who rebelled against his sadistic desires.

        "Come here, Shinno!" Methos mumbled in his sleep, oblivious to the tall figure in black who was glaring down at him. "I will not tolerate disobedience! Now, raise your garments that I may give your luscious backside a good paddling!"

        WHACK!

        Methos cried out in pain, as he woke up with a start. He would have sat up at once if his bruised bum had not been given three more solid blows. Instead, he rolled over onto his side, only to find himself alone, and the cold night air blowing through the slit of his tent.

        Swiftly, the ancient got dressed, ignoring the pain in his backside. As he emerged through the cut opening of his tent, his eyes immediately focused upon the figure standing on top of a sand dune, illumined by the light of the moon. It was the ninja! Methos knew, that behind that mask, the assassin was grinning at him. Sure enough, the ninja slapped his butt, mocking the ancient. Giving the Immortal that snappy salute, he leaped down from the dune and out of sight.

        "I'm going to get you for this, you bastard!" the ancient muttered under his breath as he secured his Ivanhoe at his back.

        The Immortal was about to give chase when he almost collided with Joseph, who appeared from behind one of the camels.

        "Methos!" the scribe exclaimed in surprise. "Just the man I was looking for!"

        However, Methos snarled, "GET OUT OF MY WAY!", and pushed past him.

        Joseph scratched his head quizzically as he looked at the departing figure. "What's the matter with him?"

        As swift as the wind, Methos raced up the dune, his feet barely touching the sand. Reaching the top, he saw that the ninja had already reached the bottom and was running across the desert. Rather than slide along the side of the dune, the ancient jumped off from the top, his legs kicking out as he glided down. Using that same technique, Methos pursued the assassin, like a rock skipping above water, the distance closing between them.

        Suddenly, the ninja whirled around, his arm sweeping in a wide arc. Something flashed in the moonlight, bearing down on the Immortal. The ancient barely got out of the way as _shurikens_ whizzed past him, the sharp throwing stars hitting the sand hard. Methos thought he heard a frustrated growl from his prey ahead of him.

        "It's not going to work!" Methos shouted. "It's going to take more than that to kill me!"

        Undaunted, the assassin pressed onward, scrambling up and over the sand dune. But the ancient was determined to catch his prey. Reaching the foot of the dune, Methos took a deep breath, concentrating hard, willing his body to become as light as a feather. Then, he leaped into the air and let the desert wind carry him over the dune.

        "There is no escape for you now!" the Immortal laughed as he began to descend.

        However, instead of his quarry, Methos saw two men standing in the wadi below. It was too late to check his fall. As he bore down on them, the ancient closed his eyes and braced himself for impact. Methos landed, and landed hard...right on top of one of the men.

        Before the ancient could get his wits together, furious fists pounded at his skull and a very familiar voice roared, "GET OFF ME, YOU FILTHY SON OF A DONKEY!"

        With his head ringing from those blows, Methos somehow managed to grab those flailing fists and yelled back, "IF YOU DON'T STOP HITTING ME, I'LL DECK YOU A GOOD ONE, SHINNO!"

        Strong hands hauled the ancient to his feet. He glowered darkly at Khassim, who was giggling heartily. Shrugging off the moor's hands, Methos brushed the sand from his clothes. Seeing that the Immortal was all right, Khassim went to Shinno's aid. As he stood up, the whoremaster's eyes fell upon what looked like dark lines on the seat of Methos' trousers, illuminated by the flickering light of the torches Khassim had tied to the palm trees.

        "What happened to you?" Shinno asked curiously.

        "That damned ninja whacked me in the butt while I was sleeping!" Methos declared furiously. It dismayed him to hear his voice coming out as a whine.

        To his greater chagrin, Shinno burst into laughter. "I couldn't have done it better myself!"

        The ancient whirled around and glared at the young man. "Do you want me to lay you over my lap and give you a good walloping with a paddle?"

        "You'd like that, won't you! Because you're a pervert!"

        Khassim raised his hands, finding himself in an uncomfortable position as arbiter. "Now, now, gentlemen! Let's calm down! No one's hurt. Everything is just fine!"

        "Everything will be fine once I get my hands on that ninja's scrawny neck!" Methos retorted in a fury.

        "There are no ninjas here, you old fool!" yelled Shinno. "Only you stampeding all over the place and crushing innocent bystanders. You've probably just imagined that bloody ninja."

        The ancient showed the black stripes on his butt once more to the two men. "Does this look like something I just imagined?"

        "You're Immortal!" the whoremaster countered. "Your smelly ass will survive!"

        "But that ninja definitely won't, once I find him!"

        Shinno breathed in exasperation. "Would you forget about that damned ninja? You've already wasted too much time getting here, not to mention babbling like an idiot. Didn't Joseph tell you that I needed you right now?"

        Methos remembered the scribe he had nearly bumped into while in pursuit of the ninja. Grudgingly, he admitted, "Joseph never got the chance to tell me."

        "I guessed as much, because you were too damned busy chasing shadows." Shinno stood with his feet wide apart, right hand on his waist and head cocked to the side as he scowled at the ancient. "This is not what I pay you for."

        Methos found himself staring at the young man before him. As usual, Shinno was dressed in desert garb. This time, however, he opted for a lighter shade of brown. His face was still covered by a silk scarf. But Methos could see those beautiful brown eyes, the gaze as sharp as daggers. The Immortal could swear Shinno would kill him with those piercing eyes alone if it were in his power to do so. But then again, the slim, curved blade in his hand would be sufficient enough to do the job.

        "A katana!" Methos blurted out in surprise, recognizing that sword.

        "Yes," Shinno affirmed, caressing the ivory, dragon's head hilt with his long, graceful fingers. "It IS a katana."  Tilting his head, he asked, "I suppose you're wondering how I came by such a fine blade."

        "I must admit the thought has crossed my mind."

        "I came by this sword during my...travels." There was such sadness in Shinno's voice. "It was a gift to me by a samurai. His name was Hideo Koto."

        Methos cocked an eyebrow up. "For...services...rendered perhaps?"

        Shinno's eyes flashed with anger. "You have the gall to make such a remark! Hideo was a good man, an HONORABLE man. If he had the chance, he would have freed me."

        "Freed you from what?"

        "From...from Hell!" was Shinno's cryptic reply.

        "What happened to him?"

        "Hideo had displeased the friend of the Shogun. The Shogun could not allow his subjects to dishonor his guests by...by protecting...a _gaijin_ and a..."

        At once, the young man turned his face away, but Methos already saw the tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't have to guess what his new student was to the Shogun's "friend".

_        So,_ Methos mused, the fact confirmed, _our whoremaster is indeed a whore himself._

        "The Shogun told my _sensei _that he had brought dishonor to his and his family's name, after he discovered how Hideo and his friends tried to help me escape." Softly, Shinno added, "Hideo was ordered to commit seppuku."

        "Ritual suicide." The Immortal shook his head in sorrow. "Death before dishonor. Shinno, I beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to make you remember the pains of the past."

        "The past will always haunt me, unless I break the chains binding me to it. That was why Hideo taught me how to use the katana. Before he died, Hideo gave me his sword. 'Break the chains with this sword,' he said. 'Seek your true destiny. Find a new teacher to take my place.'"

        "And you have found one," said Methos firmly. "However, I am not a very patient man. You must show me that you are willing to learn."

        "Do not worry, Methos," Shinno assured him. The Immortal could swear the man was grinning under his scarf. "You'll find that I'm a fast learner."

        "Maybe you should remove your scarf," suggested Methos. "So you could see better."

        The whoremaster laughed at that remark. "Shrewd, Methos! Very shrewd! I could see perfectly. You don't have anything to worry about, except your neck. Though you are my new teacher, Hideo Koto and his friends still taught me a thing or two about the sword. Even Khassim here as well." He fell silent. Wickedly, Shinno continued, "Maybe you should keep something in mind. It is the Emir's wish that my face be covered. He said that...the beauty of my face...is for his enjoyment alone. Which is just as well, for I am fiercely protective of my anonymity. If you should desire to see my face, Khassim will not hesitate to geld you. Do I make myself clear?"

        "Perfectly," Methos nodded his head. Unsheathing his Ivanhoe, he declared, "Let me test your skills then."

 

        The two men sparred for several hours. True to his claim, Shinno was indeed proficient in the Eastern sword styles. He was also a very quick learner, displaying excellent adaptability. He could easily find a way out of a potentially fatal move. Methos was constantly kept on his toes, finding himself many times on the defensive. And something troubled him as well.

_        Shinno acts like he's familiar with my fight style,_ the Immortal observed. _But that's impossible!_

        Then, there's the manner by which the man fought. The whoremaster moved with ruthlessness and cunning, and anger, there's no denying that.

_        The way he's determined to pound me into the dirt,_ Methos mused, _it's obvious Shinno hates me. But why?_

        If there's one thing Methos knew, however, one should never let anger and hatred cloud the mind during a sword fight. Plus, the Immortal still has an edge over the younger man, namely centuries of experience in battle.

        When Shinno attempted a hacking blow, the Immortal blocked it with his own blade. With a sweep of his foot, he kicked Shinno's legs from under him. Caught off balance, the young man fell to the ground. Before he could get up, the point of Methos' Ivanhoe was at his throat.

        "First lesson you should always remember," Methos declared, breathing hard. "Never allow yourself to get carried away by your emotions. It might prove disastrous." He raised the point towards Shinno's face, playing with the soft silk over his face.

        "Shinno?" Khassim asked in concern, pulling out his scimitar.

        But the whoremaster waved him back. "I'm fine, Khassim. Methos is right. I...lost...myself for a moment there." Methos raised a hand to his student. Shinno, however, did not take the offered assistance and got to his feet on his own. "I think we've had enough for this night. Joseph will give you your gold." Slowly, he commented, "I believe you would like to avail of the...services...of Little Whore again tonight."

        "Little Whore?" Methos asked curiously.

        "That's what the Emir calls his...his favorite catamite." The seething rage in Shinno's tone of voice was apparent to Methos. "An offensive name, don't you think?"

        "What is there to take offense about? After all, he is a whore."

        "Yes!" Shinno hissed in fury. "And you treated him like the whore that he is. Joseph told me everything that has happened between the two of you last night."

        "Joseph doesn't know how to keep his eyes and his mouth shut. I don't think it's any of your concern!"

        "When it's rape, I make it my concern!" Shinno took a deep breath, trying to control himself. "I thought you would be different. I guess I was wrong. If I had known, I would never have agreed to this arrangement."

        "Why should you care about a concubine?" asked Methos in sarcasm. "Doesn't the gold you pay me come from the selling of flesh?"

        The whoremaster shook his head. "For an Immortal who has lived on this Earth for centuries, you know so little."

        "Oh, I know a lot more than you think. I was once a whore myself, and I have known men of your ilk. You say you care, but you fill your coffers with gold paid for lost innocence and sated lust. You're just a hypocrite!"

        "If that is how you think of me, then so be it," said Shinno in finality. "But the greater hypocrite is the man who claims to have experienced and survived the pains of prostitution, and yet uses a whore like a piece of meat, just like the people he had serviced in the past." Picking up his sword, he pointed it angrily at the Immortal. "Methos, a warning for you. Contrary to what you believe, I DO care very deeply for the people under me, Sanchi especially."

        "Sanchi?" queried Methos.

        "That is Little Whore's real name. He has suffered so much at the hands of the Emir. I will not see you do the same to him. It was my decision to keep his identity concealed under veils and in darkness, like me. It's unfortunate that the Emir had placed his mark on him. When he is free, no one will know what he was, except for Joseph, Khassim and I."

        "And the Emir," Methos quickly added.

        "Yes," agreed Shinno. "That's why, when I've freed Sanchi, so will the Emir fall to my blade. You, Methos, will die too, if you persist in finding out what he looks like."

        The Immortal laughed mockingly. "As if you could succeed where countless other Immortals have tried and failed."

        "This is not an idle threat." With much ceremony, Shinno sheathed his sword. "Treat Sanchi well, Methos. He has a good heart, only desiring to please you. Do not take advantage of this by hurting him. If you were a whore before, you should know how you would want a paying customer to treat you."

        Before Methos could utter a retort, a dust devil suddenly swirled around them. When the wind subsided and the sand settled down, Shinno and Khassim had disappeared.

 

        Methos gritted his teeth as he stormed back to camp. Shinno's parting words to him continued to ring in his ears.

        "How dare he speak to me that way!" the Immortal fumed under his breath. "HOW DARE HE!"

        Reaching the camp, Methos strode into the concubine's tent, shoving the flap aside. As he expected, there was only a single brazier, casting a dim glow on the young man who was reading a book by its light. Noticing the ancient out of the corner of his eye, Sanchi let the veil cover his face and stood up. Methos felt his breath catch in his throat when he beheld the concubine's graceful masculinity silhouetted under his gossamer robes by the torch light.

        As Sanchi slowly went towards him, Shinno's words returned to him. _"If you were a whore before, you should know how you would want a paying customer to treat you."_

        The young man must have seen the feral gleam in Methos' eyes because he stopped dead in his tracks. It was the Immortal who closed the gap between them.

        Grabbing Sanchi's shoulders, Methos snarled, "No one tells me how I should treat my bed mates! NO ONE!"

        Suddenly, the Immortal found himself flipped through the air. As he fell to the ground, the wind was knocked out of him. Gazing up in surprise, Methos saw Sanchi standing above him, legs apart, his entire posture defensive.

        "You!" he exclaimed. "You did this?"

        The concubine was taken aback. For a moment, he hesitated, not knowing whether he should help the Immortal up or flee. Methos took advantage of Sanchi's indecision. Swiftly getting to his feet, he tackled the young man, slamming him hard against the center post. Sanchi struggled to free himself from Methos' grasp, pounding on his chest and kicking out, but the Immortal had him trapped.

        "Yes! That's it!" Methos cried as the man in his arms tried in vain to break free. "Fight! I love a fighter! It only makes the experience more exciting!"

        Whirling the young man around, the Immortal removed his belt and secured Sanchi's wrists to the center post, making him bend over. With the concubine helpless, Methos forced himself upon Sanchi, taking him brutally. Except for the whimper of pain at the first thrust, the young man kept his mouth shut, stifling the cries rising up his throat. Defeated, he gave the Immortal free rein to abuse his body. And Methos did just that.

        Riled up by Shinno's words, Methos vented all his anger and frustrations on Sanchi. He raped him, not just at the post, but everywhere he could lay the poor concubine's body over. Methos treated him like a piece of meat, taking advantage of his Immortal stamina to ruthlessly ravish the young man. But throughout the plundering of his tender flesh, not once did Sanchi utter a sound.

        Dawn saw the two men lying on the woven mat and blankets. Spent, Methos pulled his softening member out of the concubine's battered body. As the Immortal lay back on the pillows, he watched as Sanchi slowly sat up and fixed his bloodstained robes, as well as the veil over his head. The young man limped towards the small table. Taking the basin, he filled it with water from the pitcher. He then slung a clean piece of cloth over his arm and, basin in his hands, he went back towards the ancient.

        Laying the basin on the mat, Sanchi dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it. To Methos' surprise, the young man knelt at his side and began washing his face.

        Gripping the man's wrist, Methos queried, "Why are you doing this?"

        Gently, Sanchi pried the Immortal's fingers loose and continued cleansing Methos' face and body.

        "If you think this is going to change things between us," Methos began, "you're wrong. I'll do anything I like with you. Not even Shinno is going to stop me."

        At that remark, the concubine stopped what he was doing, breathing in deeply. Methos could see the anger the young man was suppressing in the way his right hand gripped the cloth.

        The Immortal smiled in amusement. "Kamir told me you were rebellious, Sanchi. Do you also fight your Master, the Emir? You have nothing more to lose, you know."

        At this remark, Sanchi hurled the cloth furiously at the far corner of the tent. As the cloth hit the canvas, there was a strangled cry as the concubine realized what he had just done.

        "Sanchi," the young man heard the Immortal mutter his name ominously. "I will not tolerate rebellion and disobedience. Lie down."

        Hearing this, the concubine buried his face in his hands, shaking his head frantically.

        "I said, LIE DOWN!"

        Knowing it was futile to fight back, Sanchi did as he was told. Weeping, he lay back on the mat, pulling his robe up to his waist, and spread his long legs. His trembling hands gripped the hem of the veil tightly, yanking it down over his face.

        "I have no interest in seeing your face," said Methos as his fingers pulled the sleeve off Sanchi's left shoulder, yanking it down that his firm chest was bared. Nipping the turgid nipple between his lips caused the younger man to shudder all over.

        Positioning himself between the concubine's legs, the Immortal flicked his tongue over the sensitive nubs. "Don't take this personally, Sanchi," Methos murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I really do not treat my lovers like the way I've been treating you. It's just that...well, it's your misfortune that you happen to be the Emir's precious catamite. You're just the first step on the road to my vengeance."

        At these words, Sanchi gasped in shock. Then, in despair, he turned his face away, the tears wetting his veil.

        "It's such a pity you can't speak," said the Immortal, clucking his tongue. "You could tell the Emir that I'm coming for him, as well as his good friend, the Lord of the Keep."

        As Methos thrust into the young man, he didn't notice that Sanchi had become still. If he had only pulled back the veil, the Immortal would have seen the smoldering anger and revulsion on the concubine's face.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 

        The caravan continued on its way. Methos noticed that his days had begun to follow a fixed routine. Mornings were spent leading the caravan through the desert. This was accompanied by invigorating, yet often infuriating, verbal sparring with Shinno. The man had a mouth that Methos was sorely tempted to wash AND scrub out with soap and lye. It's not because of his colorful curses. Shinno had a way of hitting him where it hurts the most -- his heart and his conscience. Thankfully though, he was up to the challenge, his only regret that the little fantasy scene at the oasis was never repeated.

        His nights, on the other hand, after conferences with Kamir, involved lessons with the whoremaster, followed by, to him, great bouts of sex with Sanchi. On the evenings that Shinno was unavailable, he spent it talking to the members of the caravan, trying to determine the identity of the mysterious ninja. His suspicion remained strong that the ninja was traveling with the caravan.

        Since he had revealed his true intentions, Sanchi had become compliant, enduring Methos' abuse with silent fortitude. Afterwards, the concubine would patiently clean up the traces of their coupling from the older man's body. There were times, as he watched Sanchi, Methos regretted what he was doing to the young man. Many times, he would find himself gently caressing the hint of a high cheekbone under the concubine's veil. At his touch, Sanchi would stiffen instinctively. Though he was burning with curiosity, Methos stifled the urge to touch the younger man's face again.

        Such docility was not a characteristic of Shinno, although he never broached the topic of the concubine to the ancient again. Apparently, that warning he had given Methos at the wadi was sufficient enough. With every passing day, however, it was obvious to Methos that the whoremaster's anger and hatred towards him grew, especially if, during the previous night, the Immortal had been brutal with Sanchi. Shinno would become more vicious with his attacks, but Methos would always bring him back to his senses with a hard blow or a painful wrenching away of his katana. But it became difficult with each passing day that Shinno's skills improved. Skills that reminded him more and more of the ninja.

        This night was no exception. This time, lessons were held within the vault of a dried up well. Shinno was exceptionally aggressive. To Methos, it seemed like the man was determined to kill him. To his dismay, judging from the expression on Joseph and Khassim's faces, the whoremaster's two confidants were just as interested to see Shinno succeed.

        For once, Methos broke his own rule -- he lost his temper. When Shinno thrust his blade at the Immortal's neck, Methos stepped to the side and grabbed the katana with his bare hand, the sharp edge cutting his palm. Yanking it out of the surprised man's grasp and letting it drop to the ground, Methos let his bleeding hand fly out, slapping Shinno hard on the face. The blow was so strong that it knocked the whoremaster to the ground. As Shinno lay panting for breath at his feet, the Immortal felt a sense of satisfaction, seeing the bloodstain on the scarf. There was a hint of fear in those beautiful brown eyes, though rage still burned fiercely.

_        What is Sanchi to you, Shinno?_ Methos asked inside his mind. _Are you brothers? Lovers? Why the need to guard your identities so fiercely?_

        Unconsciously, Methos had raised his Ivanhoe, the tip teasing the silk over his student's face.

        "Keep your blade away from my face!" Shinno snarled at him.

        "Perhaps I should touch you with my hand instead," the Immortal suggested.

        Revolted, the whoremaster declared, "Your hand is bleeding."

        At these words, Methos raised his palm. As Shinno watched, tiny lightning bolts streaked across the cut and healed the wound right before his eyes. The Immortal wiped the blood off with his handkerchief.

        Seeing the stunned expression on the younger man's face, Methos asked smugly, "What blood?" Squatting down before Shinno, he remarked, "I am intrigued with you, Shinno." His student started to inch away, but Methos grabbed his wrist. "It seems I haven't demanded enough from you."

        Shinno didn't miss the innuendo in those words. Furiously, he yanked his hand out of the Immortal's grasp and got to his feet.

        "Do not push me, Methos!" Shinno hissed in his face. "I have already given you everything I have to offer! EVERYTHING!"

        As Methos stood up, he met his student's fierce gaze with his own. "Everything? I think not. If you want me to remain your teacher, I want more from you."

        The Immortal watched as the man before him stiffened at that remark, the disgust and fury shining in his eyes. Then, Shinno lowered his gaze, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

        In a controlled tone, he asked softly. "How would you want me, Old One? On my knees or on my back?"

        "Any position would do. I don't care. As long as all these garments come off." Methos' fingers brushed over the silk scarf. "Including this."

        "Have you no fear?" the younger man asked him in disbelief. "If you persist in this foolishness, do you know what Khassim could do to you?"

        Methos looked meaningfully at the moor. "He would die before he could ever lay his sword on me."

        "I'm not afraid of him!" Khassim said strongly as he unsheathed his sword. "I'd rather die than see him touch you!"

        "Cripple though I am," Joseph added, "I will fight for you as well!"

        However, seeing the seriousness on the Immortal's face, Shinno replied in weary resignation, "Khassim, Joseph, I want you to leave us alone."

        "No!" the moor argued vehemently. "I will not leave you here with him! I will save you!"

        Shinno sighed. "There is nothing left of me to save. I lost everything a long, long time ago. I will not lose both of you too." Turning to the scribe, he asked, "Joseph? You understand, don't you? Please take Khassim with you."

        Grudgingly, Joseph answered, "I understand. Though it's difficult for me to accept, I understand perfectly." Laying a hand on Khassim's shoulder, he urged, "Come with me, my friend."

        "But Joseph, we can't leave Shinno here, not with him!"

        "Shinno knows what he's doing. He'll be fine," the scribe assured the moor. Gazing sadly at his young master, he added, "He's a survivor. Allah will protect him."

        For awhile, Khassim was adamant about staying, refusing to budge.

        "Khassim, I'm begging you!" said Shinno earnestly. "I must do this. I need Methos for my teacher. There's no other way. Please, my dear friend! I will not have you see me in...in his..."

        Shinno couldn't finish what he was going to say, casting his eyes down instead.

        Feeling Joseph tugging at his arm once more, the moor, at last, reluctantly allowed the scribe to lead him away.

        When the two men were gone, Shinno's hands reluctantly went up to the silk around his face.

        "No!" said Methos, stopping him. "There is no need for that. You may keep your precious anonymity. Your breeches would be enough."

        Obediently, Shinno removed the ties of his breeches and let it fall down his long, graceful legs. He then stepped out of the garment. His loose shirt concealed his genitals from Methos' view.

        "Now, get down on your knees."

        Following Methos' command, the whoremaster said solemnly, "Before you take me, let me tell you that I do this only for Sanchi. Through hand signs, he told me everything. He said that you harbor hatred specifically towards the Lord of the Keep. What did this Lord do to you?"

        "It's a long, boring story. Suffice to say that he accused me falsely, and he was at such a tender age even. Although I fled from the Lord's homeland, I've been keeping in touch with reliable sources as to his...activities. I've learned that he's been dealing with evil Immortals and unscrupulous foreigners like your Master, the Emir Zaid al-Bahir. When the opportunity presented itself for me to lead the Emir's caravan and protect his precious whore, I did not think twice. This was the beginning of the vengeance I had been waiting for for the past twenty-five years."

        "Then why do you hurt Sanchi, Methos? Whatever it is the lord did to you, Sanchi is innocent. He does not deserve your anger and your vengeance."

        "You ask why I hurt him?" Methos declared. "Haven't you ever thought that, aside from the lord and his good friend the Emir, you are the cause, you are the reason why I take my anger out on Sanchi?"

        Shinno shook his head in bewilderment. "I...I don't understand."

        "YOU HATE ME, SHINNO!" The Immortal stated outright. "You hate me just as much as I hate the Lord of the Keep, and I want to know why!"

        "I...I don't hate you! Why should I hate you?"

        "Don't lie to me! I see it in your eyes! Sometime in the past, you've known me. It's obvious because you're familiar with my sword style. I don't know what I've done to you, but it's enough to drive you to want to learn the skills necessary to kill me. You even went so far as to get me for a teacher so you could learn my style and take my head later on!"

        "I will not deny it!" Shinno retorted. "I DO HATE YOU, METHOS! I want you dead! For the way you've been hurting Sanchi and, most of all, for the way you've betrayed me!"

        "I betrayed you?" queried Methos. "Maybe you should help me refresh my memory."

        "All will be revealed in due time, I assure you." Shinno sat on his haunches, his head raised in defiance. "Well, Old One, now that our hidden motives are exposed, what next?"

        Methos circled the whoremaster like a hawk. "I could kill you before you take my head. But I won't do that. I've always loved a challenge, Shinno, and you are an intriguing adversary. I WILL continue to teach you. When that time comes and we should face each other in battle, we shall see who shall remain standing. However..."

        The Immortal loved the way those lovely brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.

        Continuing, Methos said, "This time, if you want to learn everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, from me, you must be willing to pay much more than you have already given me." Bending down, he raised Shinno's shirt slightly to reveal the golden mounds of his buttocks. Rubbing his hand over the smooth skin, he muttered, "I'm sure you know what I mean."

        Shinno swallowed hard and then nodded his head. "Agreed! However, I ask that you spare Sanchi your anger and hatred towards the lord, the Emir and I. If it's rape you want, you may do so with me. I can take it. Do whatever you want with me, but please, PLEASE DO NOT hurt Sanchi! Promise me this!"

        "I promise," Methos replied simply.

        At first, the whoremaster looked at the older man, gauging his sincerity. But Methos' face was unreadable. Shinno closed his eyes as the Immortal's hands slid under his sweat-drenched shirt, playing with the small nubs. Those tormenting fingers fluttered down towards his belly and crotch. He bit his lower lip as Methos' hands enveloped his cock, stroking him gently.

        "Kamir is right. You need to be tamed, my student," the Immortal whispered in his ear. "And raping you is not the way to do it. I am a Master, Shinno, not just with the sword." Giving the young man's member a squeeze, he added, "I think you will enjoy the things I will teach you."

        "No! Never!" said Shinno sharply, pulling Methos' hands off his cock. But the Immortal gripped his hips and bent him over that his rump was raised high in the air.

        "I want you burning with desire for me, Shinno," Methos muttered, positioning himself on top of his student, spreading his thighs wide apart. "I will have you know that the man you hate is the only man who could ever give you pleasure."

        At these words, the Immortal slipped a slender finger inside the younger man. Shinno gasped, his channel constricting instinctively to block the invader. But Methos was patient, waiting until he felt the pressure ease. Gently, the ancient inserted two more fingers inside, stretching the tiny opening. Shinno tried to keep silent, but the Immortal's tender ministrations have greatly aroused him. To his dismay, a yearning whimper escaped his lips as the older man withdrew his fingers. That sweet sound brought a smile to Methos' lips.

        Seeing that his student was ready for him, Methos eased the head of his cock just...a bit...inside...

        Shinno screamed in pain, tears streaming from his eyes.

        Feeling the whoremaster tense up, the Immortal embraced him comfortingly. "Easy, Shinno! Breathe!"

        Resigned to his fate, Shinno surrendered himself to Methos, taking long deep breaths, while the older man penetrated him. When the tip of Methos' cock brushed his sensitive spot, Shinno cried out once more, but this time, in pleasure.

        Breaching Shinno fully, the Immortal began to move his hips, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The whoremaster trembled all over, lost in the passions the older man aroused in him. When Methos once again took his aching cock in his hands, Shinno tried to squirm away, but only succeeded in thrusting his hips upwards, impaling himself deeply on the Immortal's hard organ.

        Weeping, Shinno begged, "Please stop! No more!" But Methos did not heed his cries, determined to give his student pleasure.

        Consumed by the flames of desire, the two men moved as one, primal animals longing for release, but dreaded the inevitability of its coming. Their orgasm was explosive. Methos screamed as he spurted his fluids deep inside his student. As he ejaculated, he squeezed the younger man's organ, milking it of its copious essence. Unable to hold both their weights, Shinno collapsed on the floor, the scarf falling from his face. Weakened by the intensity of their coupling, he could only manage to press his tear-filled face to his arm.

        When his cock had softened, Methos eased himself out of Shinno. Seeing the blood flowing from the blossom of the young man's rose opening, the Immortal took out his handkerchief and wiped it away. Hearing Shinno's sobs, Methos laid his kerchief on the floor, leaned down and kissed the bared cheek. The whoremaster whimpered, pressing the scarf over his face.

        "That was wonderful!" he breathed in his student's ear. "Thank you."

        Putting on his breeches, Methos stood up and secured the buckle of his belt. As he made his way towards the rope ladder leading back up to the surface, the young man's voice stopped him.

        "Sanchi," Shinno said, his voice shaking.

        Methos looked at his student in surprise. "Of course I have need of Sanchi's services tonight! We did have an arrangement, remember?"

        The whoremaster stared at him in shock, not believing what he just heard. "Don't tell me you could still...?" Shinno asked hopefully. "You...you won't hurt him."

        "My dear Shinno! I'll do whatever I want with him."

         "But...but you promised!"

        Not looking at Shinno, the Immortal replied icily, "I lied. I am Methos. No one tells me what to do."

 

        In his haste to reach his tent, Sanchi all but stumbled through the opening. The sight of the man lounging against the cushions stopped him cold.

        "You're late," Methos declared as he rose from the mat, walking towards the concubine.

        Sanchi gasped as the Immortal grabbed his hair, pulling his veiled head back.

        "I don't like to be kept waiting," Methos muttered ominously.

        Before cock crow, the Immortal left the tent, and a young man weeping on the mat, his body raped and bleeding. It took several minutes after Methos' departure before Sanchi could move. Slowly, he eased himself up to a sitting position, wincing in pain.

        From his torn garments, he produced a handkerchief, already stained with blood. Gingerly, he wiped the blood and semen away from his rump and between his thighs. Disgusted by the traces of his defilement, his strokes became hard and fast, but he knew he could never be clean.

        For a long moment, he just sat there, panting for breath, trying to calm his nerves. Slowly, he removed his veil. With a furious swipe of the fabric, he wiped away the tears from his face. Staring at the dying embers of the brazier, his jaw hardened, letting the rage fill him.

        "I won't cry!" Shinno swore under his breath. "I won't cry, certainly not over a bastard like you, Methos!"

 

        Methos rode in stoic silence, ignoring the fierce glares that Joseph and Khassim granted him. It was all too apparent to him that the two men were aware of what he had done to Sanchi last night. In truth, he couldn't care less about what they thought of him. He had long since gone deaf to the opinions of others and the calls of his conscience.

        At that thought, the image of a frail, but beautiful, woman filled his mind. The memory of his loving wife pinched at his heart.

_        "This is wrong, Methos, and you know that."_ The ancient could hear the reproach in Alexa's words.

_        "I have to do this, Alexa,"_ he answered the vision. _"I've waited too long."_

_        "He's just a child. What does a child know of betrayal?"_

_        "That was twenty-five years ago. He's a grown man now."_

        Alexa shook her head in sorrow. _"I hope you don't regret this, Methos. For your sake..."_

        As his wife faded from his memory, Methos muttered firmly, "I know I won't."

        "Are you asleep, you old fool?" a hate-filled voice suddenly said beside him. "Maybe I should give you a wallop on that loathsome facial protuberance you call a nose. Better yet, I think it would be best if I put you out of your misery right now and lop of your head."

        Methos' eyes flashed in anger as he looked at the masked figure who somehow managed to sneak up beside him. Like him, Shinno was riding an Arabian stallion, but the younger man's steed was jet black in color. He wasn't at all surprised to find that the horse was well-trained, probably by Shinno's hands. If there's anything he recognized at first glance, it's a powerful war steed.

        "Don't push me, Shinno," the ancient warned him. "I'm not in a good mood."

        "Is that so? If that's the case, you must always remind me when you're in a foul temper. After last night, I will not let you lay a single finger on Sanchi ever again."

        "SHINNO!" Kamir called out from the carriage that had halted a few meters behind them. "I turn my back for a few minutes and you're up to your old tricks! Get back here this instant!"

        "Will I never have a single moment's peace!" exclaimed the whoremaster in exasperation.

        Before he could leave, Methos grabbed his arm. "Do you think you can stop me? Watch yourself, Shinno. You wouldn't want me to vent my rage on you."

        As the ancient looked into the younger man's eyes, he was stunned by the anguish he saw in them. Such was the effect that those deep brown orbs had on him that he found himself releasing the whoremaster's arm.

        "What do you intend to do to me, Methos?" Shinno asked him, each word reflecting his deep hurt. "Don't you know that there is nothing you can do to damage me even further?"

        The whoremaster got down from his horse, handing the reins to the Immortal. His steps were slow and heavy as he went back to the carriage. Just as he reached the door, Kamir yanked him inside. Methos winced, hearing the sharp whacks of that whip. Although Kamir's curses were audible, there were no cries of pain from Shinno. When all was silent, the soft sounds of weeping reached his ears.

        In answer to the question inside his mind, Joseph said, "That's Sanchi. He could never bear seeing Shinno being hurt." The scribe gave the ancient a meaningful glance. "In the same way, it breaks Shinno's heart when Sanchi's been abused."

        "Are you telling me it's my fault?" Methos asked in irritation.

        Khassim spoke up, "Only you could answer that question. But I will tell you this. I've never seen Shinno or Sanchi as unhappy as they are now. Then again, I doubt if you even care about the feelings of two whores."

        At once, Alexa's words returned to him. _"For your sake, Methos, I hope you don't regret this."_

        The ancient gazed at the two men. In all firmness, he said, "You're right, Khassim. I don't care one bit about a pair of whores."

 

        Noon saw the caravan temporarily camped beside a hill near Ain-Sefra. Still sulking, Methos chose to stay away from the group of travelers, sitting with his back to a date palm. As he gazed up at the majestic peaks of the Atlas Mountains, he willed his mind to go blank, assuming a meditative trance.

       With his surroundings blocked out, the ancient did not notice Kamir emerge from the tent, dragging a young man with him. Before he could vocally contradict the adviser's wishes, he reeled back from the fierce slap on his cheek. Kamir forced the young man to straighten up, thrusting a tray of food in his arms. He then gestured angrily in the direction of Methos. With a weary sigh of resignation, he headed out to obey the adviser's command.

        Methos snapped out of his trance when a shadow blocked out the sun's rays. Opening his eyes, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he was looking at an angel.

        A young man stood before him, bearing a tray in his hands. The djellabah he wore barely concealed the firm body within. The ancient could see the lines of that lithe form as a dark silhouette in the sunlight. His long brown hair reached down to his buttocks, fluttering in the light breeze behind him. However, when his eyes focused on that face, Methos was immediately dismayed. Except for his cocoa brown eyes, the lower half of his face was covered by a scarf.

        "Take it away!" the ancient said crossly. "I need nothing from you, Shinno!"

        Beneath his mask, Shinno's jaw hardened. "Why? Do you think that I would poison you? I'll just be wasting excellent rat killer on you."

        "We're wasting both our time, young master of whores. Leave me be!"

        "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is to grovel before you. This is Kamir's idea. He thinks that I must...make amends...for my and Sanchi's appalling behavior to you these past few days."

        "And would you do that? Apologize, I mean."

        Shinno's desert brown eyes were as sharp as a scimitar's blade. "I think you know me better than that." He held out the tray impatiently. "Here! Take it! I want this loathsome task over and done with!"

        "Is it loathsome for you to serve and honor your teacher?"

        "Only at night, or any time that I need your instruction, would I consider you my teacher. I owe you no respect outside of that period. I see no need to respect a man that finds pleasure in rape."

        Methos' head snapped up to glare at the whoremaster's face. Whatever retort he had, he left it unsaid. Instead, a mocking grin formed on his lips.

        "Kamir is right," he said, his voice oozing with disdain. "I do need an apology from you, and the best way for you to do it is to serve me. Very well, Shinno! Start groveling!"

        The whoremaster's grip tightened on the tray, his knuckles turning white from the strain. Shinno closed his eyes, again, that resigned sigh issuing from his lips. With tempered grace, he slowly sank to his knees, laying the tray on the sand beside Methos.

        "What is your pleasure, my Lord?" he asked in the proper reverence. With a wave of his hand, Shinno gestured to the food on the tray. "We have bread, dates, dried meat and camel's milk. What do you desire?"

        "The bread will do," Methos answered.

        But as the whoremaster held out the bun to him on the palm of his hand, the ancient readily added, "Feed me."

        Again, for a brief moment, that sharp glance. Lowering his gaze, Shinno pinched off a piece of bread between his fingertips, offering it before the Immortal's face.

        Methos paused, gazing at the young man before him. However, what was visible on Shinno's face was devoid of emotion or expression. Just that bland submissiveness. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Methos hated seeing it in this proud whoremaster.

        The ancient's lips parted and Shinno placed the tidbit on his tongue. Methos tried to trap the younger man's fingers in his mouth, but Shinno quickly pulled his hand back. With every piece of bread that was offered, the game continued, the whoremaster winning with every evasive move. In the end, as it was common among losers, it was the Immortal who lost his patience. As the whoremaster was about to pick up a date, Methos grabbed his wrist.

        The suddenness of the ancient's action caught Shinno by surprise. Startlement cross the whoremaster's features, as well as fear. Methos hated that sign of vulnerability even more.

        "What is it you like, my Lord?" Shinno asked, a slight tremor in his voice. With his free hand, he reached out for the cup. "May I offer you some milk?"

        Before the young man could take it, the Immortal swept the cup from the tray. Shinno's jaw dropped, seeing the milk spill onto the sand.

        "What have you done?" the whoremaster gasped out in shock. "Do you know what you've done?"

        The answer that Methos had was never able to escape his lips for a stern Kamir strode towards them. The adviser's eyes focused on the fallen cup and, especially, the firm grip that the ancient had on Shinno's wrist.

        "Has this whore displeased you again, Methos?" Kamir queried, his voice dripping with menace. "Shinno, what kind of mischief have you been up to?"

        "He did nothing," Methos spoke up. "Both of us were reaching for the cup, but I knocked it over."

        "That's not what it looked like to me." Turning to Shinno, he ordered, "You! Go and fetch a fresh cup from the tent! Perhaps I should start treating you as the servant and whore that you truly are."

        The whoremaster hastened to get to his feet, but Methos kept his hand on the young man's wrist. "There is no need. Shinno is quite capable of providing for my needs." Saying this, the ancient parted Shinno's robes to reveal his firm chest.

        A grin quirked up Kamir's lips. "Yes, I forgot all about that. We give him a special drug to make him capable of producing such a sweet fluid. Perhaps I shall have a treat myself later on."

        As the Emir's adviser burst into laughter, Methos saw that the whoremaster's head was lowered, his hands gripping his knees. He could tell how humiliated the young man was to have this induced quirk of his anatomy exposed in such a manner. Then, to the ancient's shock, Kamir swatted Shinno painfully on the back of his head.

        "Be good, rebellious whore!" the adviser declared in warning. "Please the Horseman as you would the Emir. I shall deal with you later." At these words, Kamir left them alone.

        For a moment, the two men didn't speak. Then, in a voice hoarse with pain, Shinno muttered, "Do what you will with me, Methos."

        Methos wanted to do what Shinno ordered him -- to take him as he had Sanchi, to dominate, to hurt. But the vulnerability in the young man now kept those dark urges in check. Instead, he took the whoremaster gently in his arms. Tenderly, he pressed his face to Shinno's nipple and began to feed. At that contact, the Immortal felt the young man stiffen, anticipating the pain. Instead, Methos gave him comfort, concentrated on the hands rubbing at that stiff back and the tender lapping of his lips and tongue upon those tits. The ancient drank and drank, intoxicated by the sweet essence of the whoremaster. So he was surprised when he felt arms wrap around him, like a mother holding her child in her embrace. This was followed by a drop of something warm and wet upon his cheek.

        Above him, Methos heard Shinno whisper, "I...I cannot apologize. You cannot make me beg for your forgiveness. But...but...I don't want either of us to be hurt anymore."

        "It won't change things even if you did," the ancient answered. "I cannot be turned from my path."

        Methos felt his blood run cold as Alexa's words were thrown back at him. "For your sake, Methos, I hope you don't regret this path that you have chosen."

 

        He sat quietly in his tent, staring blankly at the brazier before him, as the servant girl ran the brush through his hair. He was supposed to have another lesson with the ancient Immortal tonight, but chose at the last minute not to. He couldn't bear to be with him, not after what happened earlier. There was a desperate need to focus, to center himself. More than anything else, he didn't want to be made to feel like a plaything.

        However, this momentary respite was to be denied him, noticing Kamir's approach out of the corner of his eye.

        "Leave us," Kamir ordered the servant away. The girl did as she was commanded.

        He felt the adviser's lustful gaze boring into him. The thin robes he wore were a flimsy protection against its heat.

        "I have to hand it to Methos," Kamir remarked. "I haven't seen you this...compliant...in quite some time. We should have sent for him long before and spared us the agony of your rebellious attitude."

        Eager hands disrobed him, trembling fingers running all over his skin. He did not broach any protest as he was laid on the soft pillows. He closed his eyes, hoping to block out the sight of that leering face above him. But it did nothing to keep him from feeling that cruel mouth suckling at his breasts or the thrust of a large cock within his nether region.

        "You are so beautiful, do you know that?" Kamir whispered in his ear.

        He tried to draw his mind away from the coupling, anywhere except the here and now. However, what his traitorous mind focused on was a scene by a date palm -- an ancient Immortal suckling at his nipple, running a comforting hand on his back. It was not something he wanted to remember.

        Thankfully, he was drawn out of that memory by a warm gush within him. Kamir was never able to hold himself for long. Better to concentrate on the fluid spurting inside him, that flaccid sex trying desperately to regain its imposing stature as it scraped along his bruised flesh.

        He didn't want to hear those hateful words. _"I cannot be turned from my path."_

        He wished for tomorrow to come -- another day for him to plot his revenge against the people who have tormented him. Against the one man who, in a single night, changed his destiny.

        But for now, he didn't want to think about Methos. He didn't want to sleep at all. He knew that if he did, the tears would come. And he didn't want to cry again.

 

        "Where is Shinno?" Methos asked Joseph, who was sharing Khassim's tent that night. "I thought we shall be having sword lessons this eve."

        "Not tonight," the scribe replied, shaking his head. "Both he and Sanchi are with Kamir."

        The ancient snorted. "Greedy bastard, isn't he? Not even thinking about sharing."

        "I think he got that idea from you," said Joseph in sarcasm.

        The ancient ignored that comment. "I've been meaning to ask you this for quite some time. What is going on between Shinno and Sanchi? Why is Shinno so protective of him aside from the obvious that he is the Emir's prized whore?"

        "Haven't you guessed it yet? They are brothers, Methos. Twins, to be exact." Joseph gave the Immortal a bow. "Good night, Horseman. I hope you have a pleasant sleep tonight."

        As the scribe walked away, the Immortal found himself staring at the concubine's tent. Brothers...twins...that explains a lot of things. But it brought with it other questions as well. And there was something that trouble him deeply.

        That tender moment he had shared with Shinno...how did that happen? Inwardly, he cursed himself for succumbing to that impulse for comfort and tenderness. He had only felt that way with Alexa. Why now, and with the object of his revenge?

        In a way, there was something about Shinno that reminded him of his late wife. Same also for Sanchi. It was a dangerous kind of emotion, something that could steer him away from his course.

_        "I...I cannot apologize. You cannot make me beg for your forgiveness."_ Now, that was the kind of response he expected from the proud whoremaster. What he had said next, however, caught him off-guard. _"But...but...I don't want either of us to be hurt anymore."_ That, and the tear that fell upon his cheek.

        There was something in the young man that brought out that side of him that still believed in goodness. It was a weakness that he couldn't allow to surface once more.

        Better that he remember who he truly was -- a Horseman, the one man the Emir counted on to tame his precious whores.

        But why did Methos suddenly find this task so distasteful to him?

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 

        Methos stood on top of a hill, looking out at the wide expanse of desert that the caravan was about to face -- the Great Western 'Irq, one of the great 'uruq or dune chains of the Sahara. At the camp below him, everyone was busy refilling the water skins from the well for the difficult journey ahead. If they leave in a few hours, by his estimation, they would reach the first oasis at the desert's edge by night fall.

        As he surveyed the area, a lone figure caught the ancient's eye. Shinno was hunched over a patch of esparto grassland, a basket at his side. The basket itself was already filled with long needle grass. Curiosity getting the better of him, Methos trudged down the hillside and headed for the whoremaster.

        Engrossed with what he was doing, Shinno did not notice the Immortal's approach until his shadow fell upon him. The young man turned abruptly, but just as quickly went back to what he was doing.

        "Oh! It's only you," Shinno said, unable to hide his contempt.

        "Why? Were you expecting someone else?" Methos asked.

        "Joseph...Khassim...anyone amiable. Except you and Kamir."

        "Am I not good company for you?"

        "No, and Sanchi agrees with me wholeheartedly."

        Ignoring the whoremaster's obvious desire for him to leave, Methos plopped down before him. He watched in amusement as Shinno's thick brows knitted in a frown, while he shielded what he was making with his cloak.

        "You know, I missed you and your brother last night," the ancient remarked casually.

        That caused the younger man to raise his head, confusion written on his face. "Brother?" But he quickly covered up, "Uh...Sanchi and I were...servicing...Kamir." Shinno scowled at the Immortal. "Thank you for reminding him."

        "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

        "Please don't act so concerned, you hypocrite," Shinno exclaimed dryly. "You're just disappointed because you weren't able to get your filthy hands on us."

        Again, those words hit its mark. Methos queried softly, "Do you think it's beyond me to show concern for someone?"

        "Why shouldn't I think this way?" the whoremaster snapped back. "You haven't shown me any reason to believe otherwise. Frankly, I don't know how your wife managed to put up with you."

        Methos gaped at the younger man in surprise, hearing that last. Shinno's frown turned into a menacing scowl, noting the Immortal's stare.

        "WHAT?" Shinno declared in irritation.

        "What 'what'?"

        "You're staring at me, and I don't like it. You look like a fish out of water -- all eyes and gaping mouth. Then again, fish don't have noses as large as yours."

        The ancient almost laughed at the way the whoremaster described him. He scratched his head sheepishly and grinned. "Forgive me. What you said earlier...it's what Alexa always says to me: 'I don't know how I manage to put up with you.'"

        "Humph!" Shinno snorted as he went back to his little chore. "Poor woman! She must have been a martyr, living with someone like you."

        "On the contrary," Methos interrupted, "I loved her very much. I never did anything to cause her grief." Deep sorrow crossed the Immortal's features. "When she died, my heart died with her."

        For a moment, there was silence. Shinno commented softly, "Loss -- whether it be through Death's doing or something else -- is always devastating. Enough to even change your life completely."

        "It looks like we have something in common."

        "We are alike in two things only -- the hate and the desire for revenge," the whoremaster retorted in great anger. "But unlike you, I do not vent my frustrations out on the innocent."

        "Shinno," the ancient began in irritation, "is it always this difficult to have a civil conversation with you?"

        "I choose who I should be civil with, and you are not one of them."

        "Perhaps I should go to Sanchi right now. He's a much better companion than you."

        "That's because he can't talk." Shinno's hands began to move furiously, ripping and tugging on the grass on his lap. "All he could do is whimper and cry and shake his head when men rape him. There is no need to beg for mercy when you are on your hands and knees or on your back, a cock being rammed inside you. They just take you again...and again...and again..."

        The young man pulled at a grass with all his might, a gasp escaping his lips as the sharp edge cut his palm. It was then that Methos got a good look at his hands. Shinno's hands were bleeding from small cuts caused by the blades of grass.

        "Your hands are bleeding!" he exclaimed, taking the whoremaster's right hand.

        Shinno, however, pulled it back. "Don't touch me!"

        Undaunted, the Immortal grabbed both hands and held them in a fierce grip so that the younger man could not yank them away. Turning them over, Methos grimaced, seeing the damage.

        "What the hell are you doing anyway?" the ancient declared, pulling a bottle of salve from the medicine pouch strapped to his belt.

        Shinno winced as Methos applied the healing salve on the cuts. Reluctantly, he admitted, "Sanchi and I are making sandals for the guards and servants. The desert is not a good place to be wearing boots."

        Methos at last noticed the pairs of sandals stacked at the young man's side.

        "Are Sanchi's hands in the same pitiful state as yours?" the ancient wrapped Shinno's hands in bandages.

        "I don't know. Maybe not. Sanchi has always been more careful than me."

        When he had finished bandaging Shinno's hands, Methos made to stand. "Let me be the judge of that."

        "NO!" Shinno tugged on his burnoose so hard that Methos plopped back down on his rump. Seeing the older man's quizzical expression, he hastily stammered, "No, you can't see him!"

        "And why not?"

        "Because...because...no one is allowed to see Sanchi during the day."

        "Is that so? Then why are the servants going in and out of the tent if it's not allowed?"

        "Because...because...Kamir forbids it!"

        "Kamir himself told me that it is the Emir's command that I personally see to the...special needs...of his concubine."

        "Well, he doesn't need you now."

        "The Emir also said that I could bed him anytime I wish."

        "Is that what Immortality does to men -- transforms them into walking cocks and bullocks? If that's the case, I forbid you to see him! Why don't you just stick it up a camel's ass?"

        Methos looked the whoremaster straight in the eye. "Shinno, what are you hiding from me?"

        "I'm not hiding anything!" Shinno answered defensively. But the ancient could see that the young man's pupils were dilated with fear. "What have I got to hide in the first place?"

        "That's what I want to know." The Immortal gave him a meaningful glance. "You know, I find it highly suspicious that I never see you and Sanchi together. It's always you in the morning and during sword lessons, and Sanchi at night. But never at the same time."

        "It's because my duties require me to be abroad during the day. Sanchi's duties are, obviously, at night."

        "But you don't share the same tent."

        "Of course we do. Haven't you seen me going in and out of the tent? At night..." Shinno pouted. "I don't think you'd want me there."

        "On the contrary, I like a good menage a trois, just the same as Kamir. You could join us, if you want to."

        "If I were there, you'll never live to see the sunrise, and I don't want Sanchi further traumatized with your headless carcass on his mat. Besides, I prefer the company of Joseph and Khassim to yours."

        Methos winked at the whoremaster. "Why, Shinno!  I never thought you liked a menage a trois as well, and with such a variety -- a moor and a cripple!"

        "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY FRIENDS THAT WAY!" was the young man's outraged exclamation.

        Shinno reached for a sandal beside him, about to whack the ancient on the face with it.

        However, the sandal was literally torn from his grasp. The two men's eyes were wide with shock, seeing the sandal pierced through and through by an arrow embedded in the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, the ancient saw another oncoming projectile. Covering Shinno with his own body, Methos pushed the young man out of the way, the arrow missing them by a few inches. Turning, they saw a running figure in the distance, darting through the grass and heading for the corn field.

        "Get back to the tent!" Methos ordered the startled whoremaster.

        "Methos, but..."

        "GET BACK TO THE TENT NOW!"

        Without saying another word, the ancient raced after the assassin. In his haste, he did not notice the sharp glint in Shinno's eye.

        Methos swiftly ran through the long grass, keeping his eyes focused on the assassin as he neared the corn field. The Immortal knew that once the man entered the field, he would lose him. He quickened his pace, unsheathing his sword at the same time.

        "HALT!" he shouted. "STOP RIGHT THERE!"

        That produced the desired effect. The assassin whirled around to face the ancient, scimitar in hand. At once, the two men fought, their blades flashing in the bright sunlight. Methos was an excellent swordsman, but when your adversary was desperate to escape and to live, his movements became unpredictable. Killing the man was not an option. The Immortal had to find out who he was targeting and who his master was. However, as they battled, it became obvious to Methos what this man's order was -- to kill or be killed.

        Still, Methos demanded, "You don't have to die! Tell me! Were you ordered to kill the Emir's whore? Who is your master?"

        But the man would not answer, pressing onwards with ferocious strokes. Methos had no choice. As he parried the assassin's blows and swipes, the ancient let the dagger he had hidden in his left sleeve slide into his left hand. However, as he took a step back to deliver the killing blow, he slipped on a loose rock and fell to the ground. With a ululating cry, the assassin raised his sword.

        Then, the man's cry was cut off abruptly. Methos rolled out of the way as the assassin fell to the ground -- two _shurikens_ buried at his nape.

        "Methos!" the ancient heard Khassim call out. The moor appeared breathlessly at his side. "Are you all right? What happened?"

        "An assassin," Methos answered. "I was talking to Shinno when he fired an arrow at us. "It's obvious that our little whoremaster was the target."

        Joseph then came forward. "I don't recognize the colors of his garb. Whoever hired him made certain that his identity could not be traced."

        "He's not the only assassin running around. The ninja..." the Immortal pointed to the _shurikens_. "He saved my life."

        "At least we have an ally," put in the scribe.

        "But a questionable one. I can't be too trusting of him until I know who he is and what his motives are."

        "Personally, I don't care about his identity." To Methos' shock, the moor pulled out the _shurikens_ and thrust a dagger through the wound.

        "What do you think you're doing?" demanded Methos.

        "Protecting the one person we could trust," Khassim answered simply. "Believe us, Methos, but this...ninja...has proven time and again that he is of no danger to Shinno and Sanchi. In fact, the greatest danger is the assassin walking amongst us, guarding the two concubines with the tenacity of a dog."

        "You speak of Kamir." Methos nodded in approval. "Yes. I've known for quite some time that he is thuggee. I've seen the slender cord hidden in the pouch under his belt when he pulled out his whip."

        Joseph affirmed, "He is the one who requires close watching."

        Sure enough, the object of their discussion suddenly yelled, "WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE WHORE!"

        To the surprise of the three men, the robed figure of the Emir's concubine squeezed his way through to peer at the body of the assassin.

        This was the first time that Methos saw Sanchi in the daylight, and he was astounded by the young man's resemblance to Shinno -- from his deep brown eyes, his long, silky brown hair that reached to his rump, to his lithe figure. He would've sworn that it was the whoremaster who was standing in their midst, when he caught the cloaked form of Shinno standing beside the carriage in the distance, looking at the angry figure of the Emir's adviser who was storming towards them.

        "Go with Joseph, Little Prince, before Kamir vents his anger upon you," Khassim said gently, squeezing the concubine's hands in reassurance. "Methos and I shall take care of everything here."

        For a moment, Sanchi's eyes locked with the ancient's. Was that concern reflected in the whore's eyes? Before he could get a word in to the concubine, Joseph led him away. Methos saw how Kamir grabbed the young man's arm and pulled him back to camp.

        "I'll expect to hear a report from you later on, Methos," the Emir's adviser called out to the ancient, who merely waved in reply.

        As he and Khassim got down to take care of the assassin's body, Methos' mind replayed the events that took place earlier. It was while they were checking the body for any clues as to his identity that the ancient's attention was focused once more on the wound on the assassin's nape from which the moor's dagger protruded. Casting surreptitious glances at the Immortal beside him, Methos' observations proved true.

        Khassim had no pouch nor pockets in which to conceal the _shurikens_ he had confiscated. In fact, the sharp throwing stars were no longer in his possession.

_        "Go with Joseph, Little Prince,"_ the moor had told Sanchi while giving the whore's hands a gentle squeeze.

        Methos clearly remembered those hands as they peeked out momentarily from the long sleeves of his robe.

        Sanchi's hands were wrapped in bandages.

 

        After giving Joseph a message for Shinno that he will be unable to teach the whoremaster this eve, Methos went straight to Kamir's tent to discuss about the assassin.

        "There's something not right about what happened earlier," the ancient remarked as he sipped his wine. "If these are enemies of the Emir, what do they hope to gain by killing his concubine?"

        "It has been known that, among the Bedouins," the Kamir began sagely, "wars start over the littlest of things. Everyone knows just how valuable this particular whore is to the Emir."

        "Just 'how valuable' is this whore anyway to Zaid al-Bahir? And I'm not talking about the great expense he put into having his concubine trained by the best whores in the world."

        "I'm afraid it is the Emir who could only answer your questions. IF he will answer them..."

        Methos shook his head. "I don't know. There are just too many questions surrounding the Emir's whore. I do not want to go into a situation as blind as a bat. This...assassin...we have no clues whatsoever as to his identity. His master could be the chieftain of any of the nomadic tribes in the desert. We also have bandits that we may have to contend with. We're not too sure about the people on this caravan as well. This is very difficult, Kamir. If I'm to protect the Emir's concubine, I need to know what we're up against. Most importantly, who this whore really is?"

        Kamir paused for a moment. With a deep breath, he answered, "I am not at liberty to divulge information about the Emir's whore. But I could tell you about the desert tribes in greater depth. Would that be sufficient?"

        It was obvious to the ancient that the adviser was avoiding any discussions about Sanchi. There was also the matter that Kamir always referred to the Emir's whore in the singular, never the plural. As if he were talking about only one man. If he were to get any straight answers, it would probably be from Joseph or Khassim, but then again, neither would be inclined to divulge secrets. He could ask Shinno himself. However...

_        No,_ thought Methos. _Better take it a step at a time. Protecting the Emir's whores should be my priority. As Shinno said, the answers will be revealed in due time._

        The ancient smiled at Kamir and nodded, "Yes, I think that would be sufficient." _For now._

 

        His meeting with Kamir took almost the whole night, a most unproductive one, in Methos' opinion. The Emir's adviser only told him what he already knew -- that if the nomads or bandits didn't kill them first, the desert certainly will.

        However, it wasn't that which kept the ancient awake. It was thoughts of Shinno and Sanchi.

        Methos had come close to believing that Shinno and Sanchi were one and the same person. Those bandages should've been proof enough. But then, the Immortal suddenly remembered that Shinno had been standing beside the carriage. There was the other matter that Sanchi had also been making sandals inside his tent. If he had suffered similar wounds on his hands same as Shinno, that would also explain the bandages. In addition, there was the ninja and the missing shurikens, mind-boggling puzzles that could give a 5,000-year old Immortal a headache.

       Methos heard the soft rustle of the tent's flap opening behind him.

        "I'm sorry but I really don't want to be disturbed right now," he said as he turned around to look at his visitor, only to find his jaw dropping in pleasant surprise. "Sanchi?"

        The young man shook his head. "No, it's me, Methos." Shinno had changed into a gauzy robe, like what his brother wears. But the fabric was much thinner that the whoremaster was practically naked. The lower half of Shinno's face was covered by a silk scarf.

        "Shinno, if this is about sword lessons..." Methos began wearily.

        "No, it's not about that." Reluctantly, the whoremaster admitted, "Sanchi...and I...we just wanted to find out if you're all right."

        "It's going to take more than an arrow to kill me."

        "Sanchi told me that I should..." Shinno took a deep breath. "Thank you, Methos, for protecting me from the assassin earlier."

        "Just doing my job, Shinno. Just doing my job."

        "Is...is there anything I can do for you?"

        "If you're thinking about sex, it's your lucky day. I'm not in the mood right now because of this headache. Maybe some other time."

        However, instead of leaving, the young man walked around the Immortal and knelt down behind him. He was shocked when gentle fingers began to massage his temples. Instinctively, his back stiffened.

        "Relax, will you?" Shinno declared in mild exasperation. "I'm not going to bite you. Come on! Lie down."

        Before Methos could protest, he felt the whoremaster's hands upon his shoulders, urging him to lay his head on his lap. The ancient just found himself obeying, even settling down in a comfortable position.

        "That didn't hurt now, did it?" the young man asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

        As Shinno massaged his forehead and temples, Methos stared into those playful brown eyes that were, for once, shining with happiness and mischief. Looking into Shinno's orbs brought a painful twinge in his heart. Those pretty puppy dog eyes...it reminded him so much of another person who had once graced and cursed his life. A child.

        "Methos, is something wrong?" he heard the whoremaster query. "You're frowning again."

        "Sorry," the ancient apologized sincerely. "I was just thinking."

        "You should stop thinking too much. It seems Immortality is not much of a cure for wrinkles."

        Surprised at that joke, Methos laughed at that remark.

        "Now, that's much better," Shinno declared, continuing with the massage.

        The Immortal gazed thoughtfully at the young man above him. "Why can't we always be like this, Shinno?"

        It was the whoremaster's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

        "Talking...not quarreling."

        Silence. Shinno said softly, "This is just a temporary respite, and you know it. Nothing's going to change between us."

        "Is it because of Sanchi? What I did to him...and to you?"

        "That's part of the reason. But then again, what could we do? We're whores after all. We live with rape. Besides, I don't think you would want us to be anything else but that."

        "If I didn't want you to have a better life, I would never have agreed to give you sword lessons."

        "Let's not kid ourselves, Methos. We both know what our true motives are -- vengeance against the people who have brought us pain in the past."

        "Yes, but it could be a stepping stone to the future."

        "But what kind of future -- good or bad?"

        "Who knows? Whatever it is..." Methos gave Shinno a wink. "...At least, we'll both have our revenge."

        In an echo of Alexa's ghostly words to him, Shinno answered, "Let's just hope we don't live to regret it." Breathing in deeply, he said, "I'd better go." He then became serious. "A word of warning, Methos. The assassin..."

        "What about the assassin?"

        "I was not the target. It was you he wanted to kill."

        Methos was stunned by this revelation. "How do you know?"

        "Believe me, Methos, I just know." Shinno reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out what looked like a rope. He tossed it to the ancient. "Here! Sanchi made this for you. He thought it would help keep your hair in place."

        The Immortal took the object and saw that it was an ornamental tie with beads and feathers used to braid long hair with.

        "Thank you," said Methos, putting as much weight into those two words as possible.

        "It's nothing," Shinno shrugged. "Just a simple token. Nothing to make a big deal over. After this, things are going to go back to the way they were anyway."

        "What if it doesn't?"

        "It will. I know you, Methos."

        "Just the same, thank you, Shinno...for saving my life."

        The whoremaster started at that last. With a snort, Shinno retorted, "Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was save your life!" The young man came to a dead halt, realizing what he just said.

        Grinning, Methos advised, "Be careful when you use your _shurikens_! Those things are sharp. I don't want your hands getting cut."

        "I think you're mistaken, Old One. I'm not the ninja."

        "Did I say that you were the ninja?"

        Shinno did not know what to say, realizing that he had been caught.

        "This is a very good thing, you know. I could begin teaching you advance techniques, especially since you know martial arts so well." The ancient also reassured him, "Don't worry! Your secret is safe with me."

        "That's what I'm afraid of," the young man muttered under his breath, groaning.

        "Oh, and I still owe you for the spanking you gave me nights before!" Methos quickly remembered. "Remind me to give you a good thrashing before lessons."

        Shinno glared at the Immortal. "That's the LAST thing you're going to do to me!" Saying this, he stormed out of the tent.

        Methos burst into laughter. As he settled down to sleep, he breathed in relief. That was one mystery solved.


	6. Chapter 6

 

**CHAPTER SIX**

 

        "Are you insane? I'm not climbing up there! It weaves worse than a drunk! The damned thing might fall with me in it! Why can't I just ride my horse?"

        Methos was trying in vain to hold back his laughter, seeing Shinno arguing with an equally fuming Kamir. The object of the whoremaster's dubious attention was the conveyance the adviser had ordered the servants to construct on top of a camel. The ancient had to agree with Shinno's assessment. The rickety structure looked like it would collapse at any minute. It certainly would not be able to hold three people inside it. Then, there's also the poor camel to consider. A stubborn, irritable creature to begin with, the camel looked like it was ready to bolt from the two noisy humans.

        Turning to an equally amused Khassim, the ancient asked, "Is Kamir serious about the three of them riding that thing?"

        "Actually, it's only he and Shinno who will be riding it," the moor answered. Gesturing to another conveyance behind him, he said, "Joseph and Sanchi are already settled in." As Methos granted it a critical eye, Khassim beamed, "I designed it myself."

        "At least that looks stable enough to me. Why doesn't Kamir allow Shinno to ride his horse? There's no way that he could escape from us."

        A grin formed on Khassim's face. "You only say that because you haven't seen how Shinno rides. He's a natural horseman and trainer of steeds. Kamir would be a fool to trust him with a horse. That's how he nearly escaped in Japan. You saw Denko. He was just a sickly colt when Shinno begged Hideo Koto to give it to him. Look at him now -- a fierce war steed, with the speed of its namesake, the lightning bolt."

        "Well," Methos began, snickering at the hilarious sight of a struggling, protesting Shinno being hauled bodily through the window of the conveyance, "better Denko than that thing."

        At the urging of the scribe, the driver moved the second conveyance towards the two Immortals. Joseph slid the window open, a rosy glow on his cheeks.

        "I am willing to bet five pieces of gold that Kamir's transport will last four hours in the desert," the scribe declared, his voice a bit slurred.

        "Four hours?" Khassim sputtered out. "That's like admitting you're Kamir's lackey, because you believe in his fiendish contraptions."

        Joseph ignored the comment. "If he believes in the design of his mode of transport, I see no reason why I should doubt him. After all, he is the Emir's adviser."

        "Who doesn't know a single thing about the desert! Ah, let the simoom come and it will blow off said mode of transport from the camel's back before we could even blink!" Khassim eyed the scribe with suspicion. "Joseph, have you been brewing your vile concoctions again?"

        "Concoctions?" Methos asked curiously.

        The moor explained, "Unlike other scholars who have lofty ambitions for higher education and knowledge, our friend Joseph here dreams of having his own tavern someday, wherein he could serve exotic drinks that he himself created."

        "That is not a bad thing," the ancient commented.

        "But his concoctions are potent stuff. You'd better not be giving Sanchi a cupful of your fiendish brew..."

        "Cupful?" Joseph exclaimed. "He already consumed a whole bottle! Our precious concubine is sleeping like a baby."

        Before Khassim could scold the scribe, Joseph slid the window shut.

        "Allah, why did you surround me with imbeciles!" the moor raised his hands to the heavens.

        "Relax, Khassim!" Methos reassured his fellow Immortal. "I'm sure Sanchi will be fine. It's Shinno I'm worried about." A wicked grin quirked up a corner of his mouth. "But since we're in a betting mood, let me throw in a wager as well. I say that Kamir's conveyance won't last more than an hour in the desert."

        Noting the smugness in the ancient's words, Khassim remarked, "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

        Methos stole a glance at the conveyance, wherein Shinno's booted feet dangled out the window. "Let's just say I have a nose for impending catastrophe."

 

        True to his prediction, disaster struck at exactly thirty seven minutes into the desert. The driver was negotiating the camel up a sand dune when the beast slipped and started to slide down. Although the camel was able to get its footing, that sudden jostling caused the conveyance to topple over its side. Methos and Khassim watched in horror as Shinno flew out the window. Kamir, on the other hand, remained trapped inside the conveyance as it rolled down the dune.

        The two Immortals brought their steeds alongside Kamir, who all but stumbled out of the makeshift transport.

        "Forget about me! I'm all right!" the Indian exclaimed, waving a hand in dismissal. "See to Shinno!"

        "I'll go!" Methos patted Khassim's shoulder and headed off in the direction where the whoremaster took a swan dive. When he arrived at the spot, however, the sight that greeted him caused him to burst into hearty laughter.

        Shinno had landed on a smaller sand dune. But his landing had not been a good one. The whoremaster had fallen head first into the dune that his whole head was buried in the sand. To Methos, Shinno looked like an ostrich in silk, that luscious rump raised high in the air.

        "Shinno, Shinno, Shinno! Oh, the mess you get into!" the ancient exclaimed, clucking his tongue, as he got down from Thanatos. Even his trusty steed was snickering. Methos patted that upraised buttock several times, eliciting a menacing growl from the trapped young man. "You know, I just realized how advantageous your current predicament is for me. I could finally get the retribution that is due me." Saying this, the ancient gave Shinno a fierce wallop in the buttocks. The whoremaster howled in pain and outrage.

        As Methos giggled once more, he said, "Naaah! I prefer to have you on my lap when I lay the strap to you." While he dug the whoremaster out, he did not notice that a sizeable crowd had gathered on top of the dune, watching the proceedings. With a pop, Methos got Shinno freed, who hastily covered his flushed face with the tail of his turban, which was tilted askew on his head.

        The comical appearance of the poor young man caused everyone to erupt into gales of laughter.

        Shinno stared in increasing horror and shame at the people laughing at him. At once, it brought back painful memories of the past -- when he was sent away from his homeland, his kin jeering and laughing at him, calling the little boy that he once was "Little Whore! Little Whore!" Already accustomed to being accorded with respect and deference, the young man found this humiliation too much to bear.

        Expecting the whoremaster to let loose with vile expletives, Methos was shocked to stunned silence when Shinno buried his face in his hands and broke into heartwrenching sobs. Everyone immediately lapsed into silence, seeing the weeping young man.

        Getting down to his knees before the crying figure, the ancient whispered, "Shinno..."

        "Leave me alone!" Shinno exclaimed, his whole body hitching from the force of his sobs. "I don't want to be laughed at!"

        Methos gestured to everyone to walk away. The servants and guards hastened to obey, disturbed at the sight of their beloved concubine crying like a child.

        "What is happening down there?" the Immortal heard Kamir demand above him. "What's wrong with Shinno?"

        "Not now, Kamir," Methos growled in warning. "You and the caravan go ahead! I'll take care of Shinno."

        "Are you sure you can handle him?" the Emir's adviser queried. "He might escape from you."

        "Believe me, Kamir, the last thing he has on his mind right now is to escape. Please! Leave us alone for a few minutes."

        Kamir gave the ancient a dubious, almost hostile, glance for a moment. Then, with a resigned shrug, he walked away, shouting to the servants, "Move out!"

        When they were finally alone, Methos whistled to his horse, who trotted to their side. The Immortal carefully lifted the weeping young man and seated him, side saddle, on his steed. Methos himself got on behind Shinno, his arms on either side of the distraught whoremaster. Taking the reins, he clicked his tongue and urged the stallion to move onwards.

        In the next few hours or so, Methos lagged a distance behind the caravan, talking nonsense stuff, waiting patiently for Shinno to calm down. At some point during their ride, the whoremaster had lain his head on the Immortal's chest, his tears wetting Methos' shirt. Eventually, Shinno's sobs were nothing more than soft hiccups.

        "I want to go down, please." The young man's voice was hoarse from his crying.

        Without saying a word, Methos brought his horse to a halt. Shinno slid down from the saddle and walked a short distance away. He then plopped down and stared out into the desert. Following him, the ancient sat down beside the whoremaster.

        "What happened back there, Shinno?" Methos queried softly.

        "A moment of weakness. The laughter...it brought back very painful memories," Shinno replied, his voice bitter. "It should never have happened. I swore to myself I would never cry again."

        "I'm sorry," the ancient put in. "It was my fault for laughing at you."

        "I should've gotten used to it by now. They always laugh...whenever they take me. I thought I had hardened my heart to the humiliation."

        "This is a different situation, Shinno. They were not jeering you. They just found it amusing...your position in the sand."

        "I know that, but... I don't want people laughing at me. I've been laughed and jeered at all my life. I don't like it."

        "Well, this is the last time," Methos swore to the young man. "I won't laugh at you ever again."

        "Don't make promises you can't keep, Old One," said Shinno, unable to hide the deep hurt in his voice. "Whether it be your laughter, your hatred, your...lust, you will always find a way to hurt my feelings. I've had enough of the tears that fall from my eyes because of you."

        "There is no reason for you to weep because of me."

        "How could you be so sure? Have you looked inside your heart? Tell me, Methos. Do you not remember people whom you have caused tears to fall from their eyes?"

        Methos fell silent. He did remember Alexa crying in anger when he had told her about his desire for revenge. Then, there was the child with the sweet doe eyes...

        Stealing a quick glance at the young man at his side, Methos found himself wondering why Shinno reminded him so much of that loving child. Before the whoremaster could pull away, the ancient embraced him tenderly.

        "You're right," he admitted to the whoremaster. "I have given pain to the people I have loved and to so many others."

        "And you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

        "With some of them, yes."

        "Including me and Sanchi."

        The Immortal couldn't reply at first. Seeing that there was no use denying it, he whispered, "Yes."

        "Do you want to hurt me now?"

        "NO!"

        Shinno shook his head. "Maybe not now. Maybe later." The whoremaster broke away from the ancient's embrace. "Let's go!"

        Methos watched as Shinno got on Thanatos. The young man's back was straight, head cocked up proudly. But Methos could see the turmoil in his brown eyes. With a sigh, the ancient went towards the stallion and got on the saddle behind Shinno. The caravan was already gone from sight, but their tracks were visible in the sand.

        "Don't hurry, Methos," the whoremaster requested. "For once, let me find some peace in the desert."

        Although he knew that no peace could be found for the young man except when he was finally free, Methos acquiesced, "Take all the time you need. I won't rush you."

        In the next hour or two, the ancient led the horse on a simple walk. Shinno had removed his turban, leaving only the scarf around his face, his long brown hair fluttering in the breeze.

        Suddenly, Methos noticed Shinno fidgeting in his seat. Before he could ask if the young man wanted to take a little rest, the whoremaster had loosened his trousers enough that it fell around his thighs, leaving his rump bared.

        "Shinno..." Methos exclaimed in surprise.

        "I know you want this, Old One. You may take me. Just this once, let it not be rape."

        Swallowing hard, the ancient freed his aching cock from within his trousers. Bending the whoremaster forward a bit, he plunged his member into the tight channel. As the two men moved, their thighs tightening on the horse's slick sides, Thanatos thought it was a silent command for him to go on a faster pace. That graceful lope only helped the Immortal in driving himself deeper and deeper into the young man. When he came, he saw stars twinkling before his eyes. Shinno himself spurted his fluids onto Methos' tight grip around his cock.

        When it was over, the ancient willed the young man to turn around in the saddle to face him. Shinno wiped the sweat from Methos' brow.

        "Are you thirsty, Methos?" the whoremaster asked, baring his milk-laden chest.

        Methos did not have to answer. He simply bent down and enveloped that taut nipple with his lips, taking a long draught of the sweet essence within.

        But then, the Immortal raised his head to gaze at the young man. "I want to kiss you, Shinno."

        "But you can't...my face..."

        "I swear I won't look, and I want to give you a little drink as well."

        Saying this, Methos lowered his face once more to the whoremaster's tit and suckled deeply. Despite his hesitation, Shinno removed the scarf from his face. True to his word, as the Immortal lifted his head, his eyes were closed, lips pursed in readiness.

        Taking the ancient's trembling hands, Shinno laid Methos' fingertips on his face. When their lips met, sweet milk flooded inside his mouth that he gasped in surprise at the taste of his own essence. They kissed long and hard, neither man opening their eyes.

        Unknown to Shinno, however, Methos was trying to memorize every inch of his face with his fingertips -- the shape of those full lips, the height of those cheekbones, the shape of his nose, the length of his lashes.

        When at last they parted, the Immortal kept his eyes shut until the whoremaster told him that he was ready. When he opened his eyes at last, he saw Shinno peering at him, tears misting his brown orbs.

        "You're right, Methos," said Shinno with deepest regret. "Why couldn't we always be like this?"

 

        It was night fall when the two men arrived at the caravan.

        Bowing graciously, Shinno said, "Thank you, Methos, for a nice time."

        Methos bent down and, taking the whoremaster's hand, bestowed a kiss upon the young man's fingertips. "Lessons tomorrow evening then."

        "Yes, please." At these words, Shinno headed straight for his tent.

        Unknown to the two men, a pair of dark eyes observed their every move, glinting with hatred and malevolence.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 

        In contrast to the heat of the mornings, the desert night was cool, the breeze lifting Methos' cloak behind him like a flag. The heavens above him were dotted with twinkling stars, the moon like a silver cookie with a piece chewed off. It was a beautiful night, thought Methos. A wonderful evening for sparring.

        As he made his way down the dune, the ancient was surprised by the sight that greeted him below.

        There was a large circular patch of gravel, the outer edges lighted by luminous crystals. Propped on opposite ends of the circle were what looked to Methos like makeshift racks. Standing in the center of the circle was Shinno, but this time, the whoremaster was dressed in the clothes of a ninja, his long hair plaited in a single braid down his back, the curled end teasing his rump. To the ancient's even greater surprise, Joseph and Khassim were nowhere to be found.

        Going towards the young man, he asked, "Aren't you going to get into trouble for not bringing your chaperones with you?"

        "I thought the Emir entrusted my welfare into your hands?" Shinno queried in turn. "I guess that legally makes you my chaperone, unless..."

        "Unless what?"

        "Unless you give me good cause not to trust you."

        "That's all in the past now," Methos said firmly.

        "Is it?" There was doubt in the whoremaster's eyes. "How could I be sure?"

        A smile formed on the ancient's face. "Take it a day at a time. You'll see the difference." Methos' eyes fell upon the weapons on the racks. "What's this?"

        "I thought perhaps you might like to put my skills to the test." Shinno gestured to the weapons. "In the five years I've spent in China then Japan, I've learned to use all of these. I have a lot to thank my teachers -- May Ling-Shen and Hideo Koto. They never thought of me as a slave and a whore. They believed, that if I learned martial arts, I could use it to return to the right path and fulfill my destiny. I still believe, however, that my training is lacking."

        "But you have learned so much in such a short period time." Methos grinned mischievously. "Let's make this more interesting. Remember that I still owe you a little spanking." The ancient nearly burst into laughter at the sight of the dark scowl in Shinno's eyes. "I'll tell you what. If you are able to defeat me, I won't spank you."

        "Does this mean if I win, I could spank you again?" queried the whoremaster slyly.

        "No, your prize is that you won't get your sweet little ass bruised."

        "I don't like it," Shinno declared like a petulant child. "If I win, I want to whack your butt too."

        The laughter, at last, bubbled out of him. "As if you could spank me! Very well then, Shinno. Let's see what you can do."

        Before Shinno could move, Methos snatched from the rack the _naginata_, a long wooden staff with a five foot blade affixed to the other end. With a fierce war cry, he charged at the stunned young man. The whoremaster, however, quickly recovered from his initial surprise. The ancient grinned as Shinno blocked the oncoming thrust with his own bladed staff.

        "Very good!" the Immortal praised his student. "Let's see how you handle this!"

        Freeing his _naginata_, Methos let loose with a flurry of swift twirls and thrusts. But Shinno was up to the challenge, blocking and parrying each swipe at him. When the ancient attempted a blow to the legs, the younger man did a graceful backward somersault, landing on his feet, at once assuming an offensive posture. This time, it was Shinno who lunged at his teacher with thrusts, which Methos successfully evaded with a series of somersaults of his own. At the last thrust, Methos leaped through the air, flying high above Shinno's head. The whoremaster whirled around, hoping to catch the ancient with a cut to the belly. However, as he descended, Methos twirled the _naginata_ in his hands, catching Shinno's weapon. With a strong jerk, he yanked the _naginata_ out of his student's grasp.

        Weaponless, Shinno broke into a run, heading for the rack. His hand closed around the _san-setsu-kon_, a staff composed of three wooden sections linked together by short chains. Surprisingly, the weapon Methos chose instead was its much shorter variant, the _nunchaku_. Shinno let the sticks of the _san-setsu-kon_ fly, hoping to down the ancient with a well-placed strike. The ancient did not make any countermoves, simply ducking from each swipe of the wooden flail, with one stick of the _nunchaku_ held in his right hand while the other was tucked under his armpit. Losing his patience, Shinno put all his force into throwing the first two sections of the _san-setsu-kon_, the point aimed at Methos' belly. In the blink of an eye, Methos stepped to the side and released the second stick of the _nunchaku_ from his armpit, their weapons clacking at the impact. As Shinno pulled his weapon back, this caused the chain of the Immortal's _nunchaku_ to coil around the _san-setsu-kon_. Before the whoremaster knew what was happening, Methos had total control of his weapon, the ancient's hand gripping the other end, while the third section of the staff was flying towards his head. Shinno barely got out of the way as he floated upwards.

        "Oh, no!" Methos laughed breathlessly. "You're not going anywhere, child."

        With a sweeping motion, the ancient threw a pair of _bo-shuriken_, or throwing daggers, at the young man above him. Shinno was able to duck from the first, but the second sliced through the tie of his hair, causing the braid to unravel.

        "So, you want to play rough, huh?" the whoremaster declared, unsheathing his katana, as he descended.

        "Shinno," Methos began, pulling out his own Ivanhoe, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

        The minute his student's toe touched the ground, their blades met in a loud clash.

        Anyone watching the two men at that point would think they were dancing. Both moved effortlessly -- legs kicking out, graceful bodies evading potentially fatal strikes with sinuous ease. Methos was particularly enthralled as he observed Shinno's every move. He had no doubt that he had learned his martial arts lessons well. Now that his identity as the mysterious ninja was revealed, the whoremaster did not hold anything back. Only a few refinements and acquiring additional skills, plus the matter of discipline and controlling his temper, Shinno would become a formidable adversary. Looking at that firm body and that lovely silky brown hair fluttering behind him, Methos mused that his student was probably the most beautiful adversary he had ever faced.

        The ancient found himself getting distracted by the movements of those glossy tresses. The hair teased and caressed his face, that he could catch the pleasing scent of lavender. However, as those silken strands coiled around his face, the tips tickling his eyes, he gasped as he felt something sharp nick his cheek. Methos' hand went up to his face and, as he wiped his cheek, it came away bloody.

        "I hope I didn't cut you too deeply, Old One," Shinno declared smugly, two hands on the hilt of his katana, his hair fluttering behind him.

        "Very sly, child," said Methos, truly impressed. "Using your hair as a distraction."

        "If you hadn't removed the tie of my braid, I would have shown you how I use my hair like a whip. I'd like to think of it as 'anything goes' martial arts."

        "Oh, is that right? Well, I know a thing or two from that school as well."

        The two men then raised their swords above their heads at the same time. With fierce battle cries, they charged at each other, ready to deliver the disabling blow. However, before Shinno could bring his sword down, Methos made a sudden step back, freeing his scabbard with his left hand. With the scabbard, he knocked the whoremaster's katana out of his hand. Dropping his Ivanhoe, the ancient grabbed a fistful of the young man's hair and pulled. With a surprised cry, Shinno started to fall backwards. Grabbing him by the waist, Methos spun his student around that, as he dropped to his right knee, Shinno landed right on top of his left thigh.

        "I guess this means I win," Methos exclaimed, his hold tightening on his scabbard.

        Shinno howled in pain and fury as the Immortal gave his luscious behind ten sharp whacks with his sheath. Releasing him abruptly, the whoremaster sat on his haunches, rubbing his bruised backside. There was a resentful glower in his eyes.

        "That's not fair!" the young man complained. "I only gave you four whacks that night!"

        "I didn't keep count," answered Methos. "I was too busy crying out. Maybe I should give you a few more."

        Shinno's eyes were wide with fear. "You're not doing that to me again!" Saying this, the whoremaster got to his feet and leaped into the air, using the desert wind to carry him over the dunes.

        At once, Methos gave chase. The two men floated above the desert, their feet barely touching the sand below. They looked like beautiful birds, their hands raised to their sides, their hair fluttering behind them. Before Shinno could disappear behind a dune, Methos reached out and grabbed him by the waist. Laughing, the two men fell to the ground, rolling down the side of the dune. When they came to a halt at the base, Shinno was flat on his back, Methos on top of him. With the dune behind them, they were nothing more than dark shadows to each other's eyes.

        "May I make love to you?" Methos asked the young man beneath him, his fingers teasing the mask covering his face.

        "I thought the Emir gave you permission to bed me anytime you wished?" queried Shinno.

        "I thought he meant Sanchi."

        The whoremaster peeled the mask from his face. "He meant both of us."

        At these words, the two men divested each other of their clothing until they both lay naked on the sand. Eagerly, Methos explored every inch of Shinno's shadowed face with his fingertips, memorizing the exquisite details of his eyes, nose and lips. Hugging the younger man to him, the ancient devoured Shinno's face, plundering it with his mouth and tongue. The whoremaster opened his mouth to the Immortal, letting Methos probe his moist depths with his tongue. He even nipped playfully on that tongue. As Methos kissed every inch of his student's face, his hands explored the firm, beautiful body beneath him, rubbing the firm back, going no lower than the waist. Pushing the whoremaster down, the ancient let his fingers move to the broad chest, finding those tiny peaks that never failed to give him such delight. Shinno groaned as Methos nipped at his tits. With a feeble cry of bliss, the young man pressed the ancient close to him, urging him to suckle hard on his nipple. His hand even went down to his chest to squeeze the taut peak, spurting delicious fluid into Methos' mouth.

        With shocking aggressiveness, Shinno pushed the Immortal off him that it was Methos who was now on his back. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head to the ancient's burgeoning erection and took it in his mouth. Methos moaned as the whoremaster swallowed his entire length, those strong muscles of his throat squeezing the shaft. Unable to control himself, he ejaculated into Shinno's mouth, the young man hungrily suckling the ancient's seed just as he had suckled on his nipple.

        "My turn!" whispered Methos.

        Exchanging places, the Immortal laid the whoremaster once more on his back, propping those long, shapely limbs over his shoulders. Taking some of the semen that had dribbled down the corner of Shinno's mouth, he coated his cock with it. Shinno howled in pleasure as Methos sheathed his aching rod inside him, gripping his student's erect cock at the same time. As he thrust into the young man, he stroked and squeezed the impressive erection in his hand, driving them both to the precipice of desire. When they came, it felt like fireworks exploding around them. Methos was very pleased when he felt his student's seed splatter on his belly. Leaning down again, it did not surprise him to find that Shinno's chest was wet with sweat and spilled milk.

        Before the last of the waves of bliss could subside, Shinno got to his hands and knees. It was a clear invitation that Methos couldn't refuse. In the next few minutes, the ancient had mounted the younger man, a fierce stallion pumping into a graceful mare, as he showered kisses on the rough mark on the whoremaster's right shoulder blade. Methos knew that he was causing Shinno pain with every slap of his hefty bullocks onto that bruised rump. But the cries that issued from the whoremaster's lips were not pain-filled ones. Soon, they completely surrendered to the pleasure, howling their ecstasy into the desert night that silenced the cries of the jackals in the distance.

 

        Methos trudged back to camp, a rosy glow on his cheeks. The coupling that he and Shinno had... He had to admit, it still wasn't enough for him. But the whoremaster had reminded him, as he was getting dressed, that there was still Sanchi back in the tent.

        "It would make me very happy if you would please him as you had just pleased me," Shinno whispered before he disappeared into the desert, leaving a faint kiss on the ancient's lips.

        Despite his still active libido, Methos was hesitant to go to the Emir's prized concubine, pausing before the tent. He knew that he had hurt Sanchi in the past. Could he stifle that urge to hurt? That desire for revenge?

_        "It would make me very happy if you would please him as you had just pleased me."_ Shinno's parting words to him were like a breath of lavender in the breeze.

        With a deep breath, Methos strode inside the tent. Sanchi was seated on a cushion, brushing his long hair by the dim light of the brazier. The fire of the lamp cast a reddish glow upon his tresses. Seeing him, the young man halted as well. Methos could detect the fear and the tension in the concubine's form.

        With a gracious bow, the ancient made the same request he had asked Shinno earlier, "Sanchi, may I make love to you?"

        Methos' eyes widened in surprise and delight when Sanchi eagerly ran into his arms in a flurry of silk and satin.

        As they both sank down on the beddings, Methos savored the pleasing scent of lavender in the concubine's hair.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

 

        "Ah, this heat!" Khassim complained out loud as he plopped down under the lean-to beside the ancient. "Truly this is hell!"

        The caravan decided to make camp temporarily in a wadi. However, because there were only a few date palms in the area, they were at the mercy of the scorching heat of the desert sun. The only people living in relative comfort were Kamir, Shinno and Sanchi, who were sheltered in a small tent. As Methos surveyed his surroundings, he could see the bones of cattle and other creatures drying on the sand.

        "That's the desert for you," said Methos, brushing his hair from his eyes that had come loose from his braid. "Don't worry! We won't stay too long here. Just waiting for the others to finish their noon meal, and then we shall go."

        "Thank heavens!" Joseph suddenly interrupted. The scribe was carrying a small stool, which he sat on. "I don't think I could survive in this inferno."

        Methos smiled thoughtfully. "You know? I've been wondering about you two, how you came to be involved in this little journey."

        "What is there to say?" shrugged Khassim. "Surely my life is not as interesting as yours."

        "All life is interesting to me. Come now, Khassim! I want to hear your story."

        The moor sighed. "I was the personal bodyguard of my lord, the Emir Boadim al-Deneb. Although he has diplomatic relations with Emir Zaid al-Bahir, my Master has no great love for him. It was al-Deneb's domain that the caravan first went to. My Master became very close to the two concubines and he was totally against the Emir's plans for them. Having served the al-Deneb family for centuries, Boadim gave me the command that would take me away from my home for twenty years -- to serve and protect, with my life if necessary, the Emir's concubines."

        Methos frowned at that last remark. "Twenty years? Just how old were Shinno and Sanchi at that time?"

        "They were but children, Methos. Only ten years old -- their innocence taken at such a tender age."

        A chill went up the ancient's spine. He had thought that the two concubines were around the age of sixteen when they had...their first experience. But not this. At ten years, they were practically babies by his standards, true innocents. It was a miracle that both emerged with their sanity intact.

        Probably reading his mind, Khassim said, "Boadim did not want to see such vulnerable children broken. You know, we nearly lost Sanchi, after the Emir had him branded with his mark. Sanchi was very ill when he arrived at my Master's Palace. With patience and love, my Master saved him, but Sanchi never spoke a single word after that. In contrast, Boadim saw the strength and determination to survive in Shinno. Unlike his meek twin, Shinno refused to be branded. My Master knew that it would be Shinno who will break the chains that shackle them. I also saw the potential in the child. Although my Master had also advised me on this, I had already decided to teach Shinno what I know of swordsmanship. It was difficult. Kamir always watches the concubines with eyes of a hawk. But I always found a way to sneak lessons to him. Shinno was a fast learner. Soon, I had taught him everything I know. I could only thank Allah that we had met other teachers during our travels."

        "You're talking about Hideo Koto and May Ling Shen."

        "So Shinno told you about them." The moor gave his fellow Immortal a meaningful look. "It seems to me you and Shinno have gotten close these past few days."

        There was a dreamy smile on Methos' face. "Yes, it seems I have, and with Sanchi as well."

        "That's what I was afraid of," Joseph muttered under his breath.

        "What did you say?" The ancient couldn't hide his dismay at the scribe's retort.

        "Let me be blunt. What kind of game are you playing with the concubines? First, you treat them like dirt. Now, you are...friends. I don't trust you, Methos. If you hurt them in any way..."

        "I swore to myself that I will never hurt them again."

        Joseph shook his head. "How I wish I could be sure of that!"

        Methos lowered his gaze. "As much as your mistrust pains me, I understand. I would probably react the same as you if I had read the details of my life."

        The scribe's head snapped to the side as he looked at the Immortal in startlement. "What..."

        Instead of answering, Methos grabbed Joseph's left hand. Tattooed on his left wrist was a circle with a trefoil in the center.

        "What is that mark?" Khassim asked curiously.

        "Our friend Joseph here is a member of a secret society known as the Watchers," the ancient explained, grinning at the scribe's discomfiture. "They watch and chronicle the lives of Immortals."

        The moor glowered menacingly at Joseph. "Are you saying we have a spy in our midst?"

        "No, not exactly. They only watch us, but they're not allowed to interfere."

        "How do you know this?" Joseph demanded. "You're not supposed to know about us."

        In reply, Methos raised his own hand, revealing a similar tattoo on his wrist.

        The scribe's jaw dropped. "You're a Watcher?"

        "I WAS one. It's a perfect place to hide. Ironically, it was my duty to watch and record my own life. Forgive me, Joseph, but if you've read my chronicles, I took the liberty of making a few deletions as well as embellishments."

        Joseph snorted. "Now, I'm even more convinced that you're not to be trusted."

        "But what about you?" queried Khassim. "How could I be sure that I could trust you?"

        "You've known me for a long time, Khassim. Have I given you any reason to doubt me? True, I am a Watcher. I was tasked to watch Kamir. But after the terrible things I've seen, what they've done to Shinno and Sanchi, it has become my moral obligation to help the twins in any way I can."

        Methos put in, "You do know that is interfering."

        "I don't think so. I'm certainly not interfering with Kamir's business...as much as I want to cut off his head myself."

        "But you would be interfering in the lives of two other Immortals."

        "Now why would I want to mess up your lives?" Joseph stopped at once, realizing who exactly the ancient was referring to. "Surely you don't mean the two concubines!"

        It was Khassim who nodded. "Yes, but they haven't been born to Immortality yet."

        "Oh my lord!" the scribe exclaimed in shock. "Why do things have a way of getting so complicated?"

        "It's not that complicated actually," said the ancient. "All we have to do is continue what we're doing now -- we watch over the concubines. I will still teach Shinno the sword. Hideo Koto was right in saying that it is this that will help free them."

        "However, I need to throw Khassim's question to me at you. How could we be sure that we could trust you?"

        Methos answered simply. "You'd be a fool if you don't. Since you watch, why don't you observe my actions? After all, actions speak louder than words."

        Before Joseph could say something else, delighted giggles interrupted him. The three men turned as one to find Sanchi standing outside the tent. The concubine was avidly watching a dung beetle that was rolling away a ball of manure.

        The ancient shook his head, unable to stifle his laughter. "I never thought I'd see the day that someone would be so happy watching a dung beetle cart off a ball of shit."

        "Well, don't look now," gestured Khassim in a mixture of amusement and disgust, "But it looks like Sanchi is driving said beetle in our direction."

        Sure enough, Sanchi was prodding the confused insect to go their way with sprite little leaps and impatient nudges of his toe. The Emir's concubine had even raised the hem of his robe a bit with his fingertips.

        "Sanchi!" Methos warned. "If that...thing...that beetle is carrying came from Kamir's ass, we don't want it here!"

        Giggling, Sanchi let the poor beetle go on its merry way. He then went towards the three men, plopping down on his butt behind the ancient. Khassim and Joseph looked on in amazement as the young man started replaiting Methos' hair.

        "By the way, Joseph," the Immortal turned to the scribe, "would you happen to have an extra journal with you and a quill?"

        Joseph looked at the ancient curiously. "Why do you need them for?"

        Methos gave a casual shrug, causing his hair to come undone. Sanchi grunted in disapproval, tapping the older man hard at the top of his head.

        "Sorry about that, Sanchi," the ancient said in apology, to which the concubine snorted in reply. Turning to the scribe, he answered, "I thought I'd update my memoirs."

        "I'll bring them to your tent later." Joseph gazed at the young man who was busy fixing the Immortal's braid. "Sanchi, may I ask you something?"

        The Emir's whore hummed in assent.

        "Are...are you happy?"

        Both Joseph and Khassim were surprised by the concubine's answer. Sanchi lovingly embraced Methos, laying his chin on top of the Immortal's head, his lovely brown eyes twinkling.

 

        "You seem to be very happy these past few days, Little Prince," Kamir whispered in Shinno's ear, trailing a finger along the whoremaster's sweat-sheened flanks. "Any particular reason?"

        "Why?" Shinno asked in turn. "Is it also forbidden for me to experience happiness?"

        "If the reason for it is forbidden."

        "The Emir gave permission for other men to bed me. Am I to blame for finding pleasure in the arms of another man than in the embrace of the Emir and his trusted adviser?"

        In a flash, Kamir dug his fingers hard into Shinno's cheeks, forcing the young man to face him. "Yes," he hissed, "if that man happens to be Methos."

        Shinno spat back, "Then tell your Master not to be so free with his permissions. From your own mouth came the Emir's command for him to bed me, to tame me, if I heard right."

        "But this does not include stealing your...affections...away from the Emir."

        "I never had any affection for Zaid al-Bahir right from the beginning. Why don't you just admit, Kamir, that you don't want to share your precious Little Whore with someone else."

        There was a brief flash as Kamir pulled out his silken cord and wrapped it around Shinno's throat, slowly strangling the young man.

        "I should kill you right now!" the adviser declared in fury.

        "Then do it!" the whoremaster gasped out, just as angry. "Do me this one kindness, Kamir! Put me out of my misery!"

        For a moment, the cord tightened, cutting off all air. Suddenly, Kamir released him. Shinno turned onto his side, panting and choking.

        "Do you think he feels something for you?" the Indian sneered at him. "He is just like his Horse Brothers. He is using you as the whore that you are. Don't delude yourself into thinking that he loves you. He could never love you, especially when he finds out who you truly are."

        Shinno gave the Immortal a sharp glance. "I hate you! I hate all of you for destroying my life!"

        "I won't take all the credit for that. You and I know damned well that you are mostly to blame for what happened to you -- you and that Horseman." Kamir got down on one knee and looked the young man straight in the eye. "I only want to spare you the heartache, Shinno. I don't want to see you hurting like this. You know I'm the only man who could give you happiness. Just say that you love me, or that you could bring yourself to love me, and I will free you from this Hell."

        "And how do you intend to do that -- kill Methos? The Emir? Tempting offer, Kamir. But I could never love you." Shinno said bitterly, "I don't even know how it feels to love anymore."

        "Oh, but you do! It's that tiny spark of happiness you feel whenever you're with Methos. Watch yourself, my sweet Little Whore. If there is one thing that I cannot stand, it's a rival for your heart."

        Shinno stood up and, with measured slowness, donned his robes, wrapping the silk scarf over his face. "You have nothing to fear about this rival, for it is I who shall kill him."

        Saying this, the whoremaster strode outside the tent, hoping to get away from the loathsome presence of the Emir's adviser. He squinted his eyes at the bright sun.

        Methos was forced to delay their departure after he heard that one of the female servants was suffering from labor pains. Shinno himself had gone to see her, a frail woman, bearing herbs that would help build up her strength. He could tell from the look on the ancient's face that he feared she might not survive the childbirth.

        Although he was concerned for her, Shinno had to admit that he was thankful for the delay. He was not looking forward to returning to Zaid al-Bahir's realm too soon.

        The whoremaster's mind returned to the conversation he had with the Emir's adviser. He always knew that Kamir was dangerous, but now that his obsession towards him was revealed, it became clear just how great a danger he truly was. He would kill Methos; there wasn't any doubt of that. And he had no intention of seeing that lovesick fool steal away the vengeance he had longed for.

        However, the question was does he still crave revenge? Shinno couldn't deny that, during these past few days, he began to feel something towards the ancient. An emotion he never thought he would feel again. He wondered if this feeling was shared by the ancient.

_        "I swear I will never hurt you again,"_ Methos had told him. A promise he had kept. So far.

        The doubt still persisted. A tiny voice inside his heart, however, urged him to believe. How he wished that he could believe!

        Shinno was brought out of his musings by a soft clicking at his feet. Looking down, he saw a lizard peering up at him. For a moment, the whoremaster and the reptile just stared at each other.

        Remembering that he had a small piece of bread in his pouch, Shinno took it out and started waving it before the lizard's beady black eyes. "Here you go, boy! I know you're hungry! Come on! Take it!"

        The reptile hesitated. Then, it snatched the bread out of the young man's hand. As Shinno looked on in astonishment, frills puffed out of the lizard's neck. Standing on its two hind legs, the reptile broke into a run, piece of bread hanging from his mouth.

        "Hey! Where are you going?" cried Shinno. "Wait! Come back!"

        Hitching up his robe, the whoremaster gave chase. Around and around the camp, Shinno pursued the frilled lizard, laughing as he did so. Engrossed in the chase, the young man did not realize that some of the servants and guards had walked out of their tents to watch the Emir's concubine running after a lizard.

        Suddenly, the reptile came to a full stop. Shinno did the same. As they stared at each other once more, the lizard let the piece of bread fall from its mouth.

        "Oh, I'm so sorry!" the young man said in sincere apology. "You're very hungry and yet I ran after you." He picked up the bread again and offered it to the lizard. "Go ahead! Take it, little one! I swear I won't chase you this time."

        For a minute, the reptile looked into Shinno's eyes. In the blink of an eye, it grabbed the bread again. With a few angry clicking noises, the lizard ambled away.

        Someone started to clap and laugh behind him. Whirling around, Shinno saw Methos approaching.

        "I thought I'd seen everything," the ancient declared. "First, it's Sanchi with his dung beetle. Now, it's you and a frilled lizard. What is it between you twins and animals anyway?"

        If he wasn't wearing a veil, Methos would've seen the deep blush on the whoremaster's cheeks. "We've led a sheltered life -- Sanchi and I. These animals...they are new to us."

        "But do you have to scare the poor creatures to their graves?"

        Not knowing what else to say, Shinno whispered, "I'm sorry."

        Methos simply shrugged it off. "No, it's all right. It just pleases me to see you two so happy."

        Taking Shinno's hand, he led the young man to the lean-to and urged him to sit down. From within his pouch, the ancient pulled out a length of ornamental rope he had made from esparto grass, beads, crystals and feathers. Shinno was awe-struck as Methos let him hold it for a minute. The whoremaster saw that the crystals were luminous stones.

        "Is...is this for me?"

        Methos grinned. "What do you think?"

        Sitting behind Shinno, Methos started to braid the younger man's hair with it, coiling it into a loose bun at the back of his head.

        "Methos?"

        "Yes, Shinno?"

        "I...uh...I have to ask. You...you won't hurt me?"

        The ancient said in mild exasperation. "Are we back to that again?"

        "I just want to be sure. For Sanchi's sake...and for me..."

        Methos' answer took Shinno's breath away. The ancient gave him a loving embrace. Kissing the crown of Shinno's head, he then laid his chin on top.

        "You have my word, Shinno," Methos whispered. "You and Sanchi have nothing to fear from me."

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

**CHAPTER NINE**

 

        An anguished cry pierced the desert night air. This was followed by Kamir's angry shout as a robed figure hurried out of the large tent, bearing a small bundle in his hands. Running past the sleeping camels, he made his way towards the servant's area, entering one of the tents.

        Methos was bent between the legs of the pregnant female servant Liamina, his right hand massaging her swollen abdomen. Khassim had the woman supported on his lap, while another servant, her friend Tamar, held her hand. Joseph was busy boiling water.

        The ancient noticed Shinno's entrance out of the corner of his eye. In answer to the whoremaster's unspoken question, he said, "It's not good. She's too weak to push the baby out. I might have to cut her and pull the child out myself. If only I had the instruments..."

        Shinno sat down beside the Immortal and opened his precious bundle. "Would these help?"

        Methos stared in surprise at the fine knives and surgical instruments. There were also needles and silk threads. Glass vials contained a variety of herbal concoctions.

        Raising three vials one by one, Shinno described the uses of each to the ancient. "This one induces contractions, but given her condition, I think this will do more harm than good. You could probably use this one. It's a pain reliever. This last one controls bleeding."

        "Where did you get all these, Shinno?" queried Methos, never expecting such a medical cornucopia in the whoremaster's possession.

        "While we were in France," the young man explained, "I met a healer named Grace Chantelle. She...uh...helps the ladies in the brothel occasionally. Grace taught me a few things about medicine and healing, and she gave me this."

        Methos readily suggested, "Then perhaps you could assist me. We must get the baby out. If we delay this any further, we might lose both of them."

        "Yes," said Shinno eagerly, happy to be able to do something useful for a change. "I would like that very much."

        Khassim and Joseph looked on in awe as the two men worked. After boiling the instruments in water, Shinno handed them over to Methos. He then gave Liamina a sip of the pain reliever, so that the ancient could cut a wider opening. Just as Methos made the incision, the woman cried out as a contraction came on.

        "That's it," the Immortal urged her. "Push! Push hard!"

        Liamina closed her eyes, sweat trickling from her brow, as she pushed. At once, the baby's head popped out. Gently pressing on her abdomen, Shinno pushed the baby down while Methos eased it out. Emerging, the baby let out a lusty cry.

        Cutting the infant's umbilical cord, the ancient declared with pride, "You have a beautiful baby girl," laying the baby in her mother's arms. Although still very weak, Liamina pressed the child to her breast, to give her those first few precious drops of milk. To their dismay, however, the baby pulled away, wailing, shaking her little fists.

        Tamar squeezed her friend's breast and shook her head. "She doesn't have any milk."

        There was a moment's hesitation in the whoremaster. From within the pocket of his robes, he produced a vial filled with an amber fluid. "Let her drink this, Tamar, three times a day. It should induce the milk to flow. But it might take two to four days before her breasts could actually produce milk."

        "What are we going to do in the meantime?" asked Joseph.

        "We certainly cannot give this baby camel's milk."

        Khassim added, "And none of the women are wet nurses."

        "I've heard there's a small settlement not far from here," Methos put in. "I could go there and buy a goat."

        Shinno, who had been strangely silent during their exchange, said softly, "There's no need." He raised his hands to the child. "Give her to me."

        Methos knew immediately what the young man was intending to do. "Shinno..."

        "Methos, you know that...this...was done to me to satisfy the depraved desires of the Emir. Let me use it to save this child."

        The ancient nodded. Turning to the two women, he requested, "Shinno is right. The child would thrive with him in the meantime. Trust him, Liamina."

        "I have no reason not to trust my young Master." Liamina lifted her daughter to the Immortal, who took the wailing baby in his arms and handed it to the whoremaster.

        As everyone looked on, Shinno brushed his long hair aside. He let the sleeve of his robe dip from his left shoulder, baring his chest. With stunned silence, they watched as the young man let the baby suckle from his breast.

        Tears misted the eyes of the two women, shocked by this induced capability in their master.

        "Our beloved Prince..." Tamar said hesitantly. "What did they do to you?"

        "It's the drug." Joseph was the one who replied. "The Emir and his adviser have been forcing him to take it, especially when they intend to bed him. They've tapered the dose so that although he produces milk, his chest does not swell up."

        Hugging the baby, Shinno whispered, "Forgive me. I...I guess I must disgust you."

        "No, my lord," Liamina reassured him. "We feel anger towards the men who would commit such depravities upon your person. But, in a way, I am also thankful to them."

        "Why do you say that?" Khassim asked curiously.

        "You see, they did it to a good man," the servant explained. "A man who does not hesitate to nurse the child of his sick serving woman, and feels no shame in doing so. Neither does he abhor having a slave's baby feed at his breast. A master, an emir would never do this for a slave."

        "Liamina, I am not a master," Shinno reminded her. "I am a slave just like you."

        With a smile, the woman, however, countered, "No, dear Master. You are an angel that Allah had sent down from Heaven to help us."

 

        After ensuring that Liamina was well, Methos stepped out of the tent, feeling elated.

        An angel. That was what the woman described Shinno to be. After witnessing what the young man had done, he had no doubt of it. Shinno's great capacity for unconditional kindness and generosity revealed an indomitable spirit of goodness. It certainly didn't surprise him how much the Emir wanted to break him. If he were the man he was before, he would've shared the same impulses with the Emir. There was nothing more appealing, and satisfying in the end, than to see the ruin of an innocent. IF he were the man he was before...

        But if he wasn't, what was he doing in this God-forsaken place?

_        "You...you won't hurt me?"_ Shinno had asked him earlier. Methos had promised that he wouldn't.

        So what will happen now to the promise he had made to himself twenty-five years ago?

        Methos didn't want to lie to himself. The desire for revenge was still strong, and Shinno remained the perfect tool for his vengeance.

        The ancient Immortal gazed up into the stars. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. How could he fulfill one promise without breaking the other?

        Angry voices brought Methos out of his musings, recognizing the arguers immediately as Kamir and Shinno. At once, Methos remembered that the whoremaster had earlier left the servants' quarters with little Zumillah, intending to keep Liamina's daughter in his safekeeping until her mother could take care of her. Fearing for Shinno, the Immortal hurried in the direction of the voices.

        Just as he neared the concubine's tent, Methos stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide in horror as he beheld Shinno falling to the ground, baby in his arms. Kamir towered above the young man with whip still raised, ready to bring it down upon the helpless whoremaster and the child.

        Before he realized that he was doing it, Methos was running towards them. Going between Shinno and the adviser, he grabbed the whip before it could fall.

        "Methos!" Kamir exclaimed in surprise. "Damn you, Horseman! Let go of my hand! I will not allow that you interfere this time!"

        "Would you willfully harm a child?" the ancient demanded in return.

        "I told this whore to return the child to its mother. It is not his task to play wet nurse to the infant of a slave."

        "I suppose it is his duty to play wet nurse to perverted emirs and their advisers, is that it?"

        Kamir snatched his whip back. "Do not play the hypocrite, Methos. You yourself have had your pleasure from the Emir's concubine."

        "I won't deny that," said Methos firmly, "but it's obvious to me that you resent this. Why? Am I to blame for your Master's permissiveness to have other men bed his whores? Can I help it if I'm a much better lover compared to Zaid al-Bahir or you?"

        Furious, Kamir made to hit the ancient with the whip. Before the adviser could even blink, Methos' Ivanhoe was at his throat.

        "Kamir, get your brain to return to its proper position in your head instead of between your legs," the ancient advised in all seriousness. "Shinno has taken it upon himself to care for a servant's child, a generous move that has endeared him to all in this caravan. If you should hurt him grievously, what's to stop them from helping the Emir's precious whore to escape or, worse, use this as a stepping stone to a full rebellion? Think, Kamir! You stand to lose a lot not only for yourself, but also for your Master, if you dare to harm him."

        The Emir's adviser hesitated for a moment. Grudgingly, he lowered his hand, letting the whip slap against his thigh. "I will heed your advice for now, Horseman. But I must warn you. Continue to coddle this obstinate whore and he will strike like a viper."

        "And like I told you, I can handle him." Methos laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Kamir, leave this to me. Trust me."

        Kamir, however, shrugged the ancient's hand off. Snorting, he said, "I doubt if I could trust you any longer," and stormed off in the direction of the circular tent.

        As he glanced down, Methos saw the whoremaster's fallen veil. He picked it up and dropped to one knee before Shinno. The young man cowered from him, Zumillah pressed close to his face, both to protect the crying child and his identity.

        "Turn around," Methos told the whoremaster, showing him the veil.

        Shinno meekly obeyed, letting the Immortal coil the veil loosely over the lower half of his face. Methos grimaced, seeing a hint of a dusky bruise on a high cheekbone.

        "Are you all right?" the ancient asked in concern. "Did he hurt you?"

        The young man shook his head. "You came just in time. He nearly came close to hitting the baby when he struck me in the face."

        "Where's Sanchi? I don't like the idea of leaving him alone with Kamir when he's in a foul temper."

        "I'm sure he's fine. When I left Kamir earlier to help you with Liamina, he was already very angry with me. So I asked Khassim and Joseph to take Sanchi into their tent and protect him."

        "Good idea! As for you, don't tell me you were heading back to your tent despite the fact that you know Kamir will be waiting for you there!"

        Shinno made a helpless shrug. "I have nowhere else to go."

        Methos exhaled in mild exasperation. Taking the whoremaster's hand, he said, "Come on! You two are going to stay with me tonight."

        He then led the younger man to his tent, urging him inside as he raised the flap for him. Shinno entered, pausing at the entrance so that the ancient could light the brazier. As light filled the tent, the whoremaster's eyes fell upon the leather bound journal, charcoal pencils, a quill and a bottle of ink lying on the cushion.

        "Why do you need those?" Shinno asked curiously. "Planning to keep a journal?"

        Methos replied, "That is for me to know and you to find out."

        Shinno scowled darkly at the ancient, but before he could utter a retort, a cushion flew above his head as Methos struggled to create a semblance of order in his tent. With a smirk, he commented, "For the oldest of Immortals, you don't know anything about housework, do you?"

        Whatever the Immortal was going to say never escaped from his mouth as the whoremaster thrust Zumillah into his arms. As he looked on, Shinno went about setting the tent to rights. He unrolled the mats to their full length. Taking the blankets, Shinno strode towards the opening and shook the sand out. Going back inside, his eyes fell upon the ancient's boots.

        "Take off your shoes," he ordered. Taking Zumillah once more, Shinno slapped a wash cloth at Methos' chest. A smile formed on the ancient's lips, as he obeyed the unspoken command for him to bathe.

        When he had finished his bath a few minutes later, Methos entered the main tent to find Shinno sound asleep on the mat, the infant suckling quietly on his chest. It pleased him to find that the young man had left a space for him on the mat.

        For a moment, Methos found himself staring at the journal. However, the enticing image of the whoremaster asleep on his mat was a temptation he found irresistible. Besides, he was very tired himself, and what was the best way to fall into blissful slumber than with the young man he cared deeply for. There was no reason to deny it any longer.

        Getting down on his hands and knees, Methos carefully crept towards Shinno and lay down that they were face to face. The ancient stared at the whoremaster for a long time, mesmerized by the sight of those long, curled lashes and a hint of a cheekbone above the silk veil. Slowly, he raised his hand, fingers trembling, aching to pull down that veil and behold at last the face of the younger man. Before he could touch the silk, Methos closed his hand. Instead, he laid his arm on that trim waist.

        Shinno's eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert. However, seeing that it was the Immortal, those brown eyes softened, shining with a warm glow. With a pleasant sigh, the whoremaster cuddled close to the older man, the now sleeping baby between them.

        Methos bestowed a tender kiss upon Shinno's brow. For now, he had kept his promise. But still the question remained -- how long could he continue to be a prisoner of two vows? He did not want to think, to be afraid of what tomorrow could bring. For now, his world was at peace. No thoughts of revenge. No memories of betrayal. Just the stillness and contentment. And the trust of a sleeping young man and a child.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**CHAPTER TEN**

 

"What...are...you...doing?"

        Methos was standing with his legs apart, arms crossed over his chest. His brow had formed a sinister arch, lips pursed in a pout.

        The object of his displeasure was seated under a date palm, trying desperately to look innocent.

        Sanchi had Zumillah propped on his lap, wrapped in swaddling clothes. However, one little arm was free. With the concubine's gleeful assist, the baby had a _kodachi_ throwing dart clenched in her tiny fist. Sanchi was holding a similar weapon in his other hand. The ancient had caught the concubine playing "swords" with the infant.

        "Sanchi, hand them over," Methos ordered sternly, raising a gesturing hand, palms up, to the younger man. "Zumillah is still too young to be playing 'Queen of Swords'. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to let children play with sharp objects?"

        Grumbling to himself, Sanchi handed the darts over.

        The ancient grimaced at the sight of those sharp points. He raised a finger to poke at the tip, all the while scolding, "I swear, Sanchi, sometimes you have the mind of a child. Why can't you be more like Shinno -- level-headed, responsible..."

        But as Methos pressed on the point, the length of the dart suddenly gave way. Holding the tip, he bent the dart left and right. Rubber. A harmless toy painted to look like a fiercesome weapon.

        Methos slowly turned to Sanchi, growling menacingly. With a wave and a giggle, the concubine picked up the baby and made a quick getaway.

        "SANCHI!" the Immortal cried out as he went after the mischievous whore.

        In his haste, Methos did not notice the figure weaving right into his path. Before he knew what was happening, the ancient plowed into Shinno. Sanchi stopped at once, gasping in shock, as the two men collided.

        As he got to his feet, Methos started waving the fake darts right in Shinno's face. "Is this your idea? I thought Sanchi was the immature one. But you're much worse. Where did you get these things anyway, Shinno? These are not good toys for a child, much more a baby girl. There's already too much violence in this world. Should you even begin to foster these tendencies at such a very early age?" He looked suspiciously at the young man before him. "Shinno, are you drunk? ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

        Shinno had stood up, his whole body wobbling, as he fixed the turban on his head. Furious as he was, Methos grabbed the whoremaster by the shoulders. Sanchi turned as white as a sheet when the ancient gave Shinno a kiss, the mask the only barrier between their lips. The concubine winced as Shinno decked the Immortal a good one, that the ancient fell to the ground, his head hitting a small rock. Brushing the sand from his clothes, the whoremaster sauntered away.

        Methos tried to make sense of where he was, but his head was whirling and there was an annoying ringing in his ears. Opening his eyes brought a wave of nausea that he snapped them shut again. Before he did so, he had caught a glimpse of three shadowy figures peering down at him.

        "Is he dead? Is he dead?" a voice whom he recognized as Shinno's asked near his right.

        There was a snort. In his gritty voice, Joseph replied, "He's Immortal. No Immortal ever died from just one punch."

        At once, a baby started to cry, only making his headache worse.

        "Go on, Little Prince, and take care of the child," he heard Khassim advise. "We'll see to your ancient friend."

        There was another snort. "And he's supposed to be the world's oldest Immortal? I never saw such a clumsy fool in my life. He's a disgrace to all Immortals."

        As he was being helped up, Methos blubbered, "Clumsy? Me, clumsy? I was caught off guard. Damn it! Bloody drunk as he was, he should consider himself lucky that I still gave him a kiss."

        "Drunk?" Khassim queried. Dizzy as he was, the ancient did not notice the moor give Joseph a smoldering glare. "Don't worry, my friend! If I had known, I would have given Shinno a scolding."

        But Methos shook their hands away. "Don't bother! I'll give Shinno a hiding myself!"

        "You're not well," the scribe argued. "Why don't you sit for awhile and just let Immortal healing do its work?"

        "No! I want to get my hands on that drunken whoremaster! Now, get your hands off me!"

        Saying this, Methos yanked his arms loose and wobbled off in the direction that Shinno had taken. He had just turned at the corner of one tent when another wave of dizziness hit him. Pausing for a moment, he leaned against the post, waiting for the dizziness to subside. When he opened his eyes, he jumped in surprise, as Kamir suddenly appeared before him.

        "Good lord, Kamir! Don't do that!" Methos declared, rubbing his chest. "My heart almost stopped!"

        The Emir's adviser gave the ancient a polite bow. "Forgive me for startling you like this."

        "Is there something you wish to speak with me about? Unfortunately, this is a very bad time. There's a certain whoremaster that I would like to get my hands on."

        "Whoremaster?" Kamir asked quizzically. "These past few weeks, your words still continue to confuse me. Who are you talking about?"

        "I'm talking about Shinno. Damn him! He punched me in the face. I was scolding his brother Sanchi earlier for letting the child Zumillah play with a dangerous-looking toy. I was telling Shinno about it -- and he was drunk out of his mind -- when he just hit me."

        "Shinno? Sanchi?"

        "Don't play mind games with me, Kamir! My head is not up to any puzzles. You know who I'm talking about. Shinno, the whoremaster, is the twin brother of Sanchi, the Emir's prized whore."

        Silence. Then, the adviser remarked, "I see that there is a little...deception...going on around here. Don't think I didn't warn you. I told you that little minx is a sly one."

        "What the hell are you talking about?"

        "I cannot answer it now. Besides, the reason why I came here is to invite you to a small feast in my tent this evening." Kamir smiled at the ancient. "I wanted to show you that there is no bad blood between us, and I am preparing something truly special tonight. I insist that you come. I assure you all your questions will be answered this eve."

        "Yes, I'll be there," Methos confirmed, granting the adviser a gracious bow, though the movement caused his head to spin again.

        As Kamir walked away, the Immortal continued on his little search for the whoremaster. Sure enough, he heard furious voices coming from the servant's area. With slow, measured steps, Methos found himself standing behind the camels, looking at the two figures fighting before a tent.

        Shinno had his head meekly bowed, unable to look at Sanchi who was gesturing angrily with his hands. As the ancient watched, the concubine reached inside the whoremaster's shirt and pulled out a wine bottle. Angrily, Sanchi broke the bottle against the post, eliciting a pinched cry from Shinno. For a moment, Methos thought that the whoremaster was going to charge at the concubine. However, Sanchi's hand flew out, delivering a ringing slap to Shinno's cheek. Grabbing his arm, Sanchi yanked the whoremaster inside the tent.

        Methos stood in stunned silence. He was oblivious to the fact that the camel beside him was chewing contemplatively on his burnoose, as his mind brought him back to specific incidents of the past few weeks.

_        "Sanchi was branded with the Emir's mark,"_ Khassim had told him. _"But Shinno strongly refused to have the same done to him."_

        Methos' mind returned to that night in the desert when he had made wonderful love to the twin concubines. His eyes flew wide in shock, the realization hitting him with the force of a sandstorm.

_        "Sanchi was branded."_

        The ancient recalled kissing both whores in one particular spot on their bodies. BOTH had rough scars, obviously a brand, on their right shoulder blades.

        Now, there was the argument he had unwittingly stumbled upon. Before the twins entered the tent, Methos had heard an angry exclamation. Only two words, but he heard them clearly.

        "DRUNKEN FOOL!"

        Two words. Two angry words that were issued from the furious lips of the Emir's "mute" concubine, Sanchi.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

 

        Before night fell, the caravan made camp in a small oasis that was frequented by desert nomads for its well.

        Methos walked around the camp to see if all was fine. He even visited Liamina, who was happily nursing little Zumillah for the first time. The ancient wandered around, checking everything, even the animals.

        However, this meticulousness was merely a front to hide his unease. For some reason, Methos was not looking forward to Kamir's little feast. Having trusted his instincts for a long, long time, there was a disturbing feeling in his gut that this was a harbinger for something terrible that would happen.

        But then, stronger than his apprehensions was the desire to get answers. Since this morning, Methos had been replaying in his mind the scene that he had stumbled upon. True, he had been dazed from that punch and when the back of his head had struck that rock when he fell. But there wasn't any doubt in his mind that it was Sanchi who had spoken. Then, there was the matter of the Emir's brand.

        The ancient's mind was a-whirl with questions. Are Shinno and Sanchi indeed twins, or, as he originally suspected, are they one and the same person? If they are one person, then who was the other man he saw when the two whores were seemingly together? Just who are these "twins"?

        Which was why, despite his fears, Methos found himself standing outside Kamir's tent. He could sense the Emir's adviser inside. There was no turning back. Taking a deep breath, Methos entered the tent.

        Kamir was waiting for him inside. He stood up, a warm smile on his face, seeing the ancient. He took Methos' hands and shook them. "Welcome to my humble tent, Methos!" The Indian gestured to the sumptuous food on the low table. "Come, my friend! Join me for dinner."

        In the next two hours, the two men ate and engaged in idle chat, while one of the female slaves served them. For awhile, Methos felt his fears ease a bit. Maybe he was wrong about Kamir, that he wasn't planning anything sinister. Then again, he was also concerned that his questions would remain unanswered. Still, they have a long way to go before they reach the Emir's realm, enough time for him to get his answers.

        As the night wore on, although their meal was finished, the wine continued to flow. Although known for his temperance, the ancient could not decline, fearing that he might offend the Emir's right hand man. Strangely, however, Methos did not feel drunk. But he was suffused by a heat that was close to becoming unbearable. Worse, that warmth was concentrated on the sensitive regions of his body, specifically his groin. Judging from the expression on the adviser's face, Methos could see that the wine was having the same effect on Kamir.

        The adviser whispered something in the serving girl's ear. With a bow, she hurried outside the tent.

        "Now, that we're alone," Kamir declared, lounging against the cushions, "let's get down to business."

        "And what business is that?" Methos asked in turn.

        "You know what I mean -- the Emir's concubine."

        "Which whore are you referring to?"

        "Are we back to that again? Never mind. You'll get the answer to that question soon enough." The adviser went straight to the point. "Methos, I want to know what your feelings are for the Emir's whore."

        "Feelings? I have no feelings for him except the desire to bed him," the ancient skillfully lied, keeping his face devoid of all expression. "He is exquisite. He was trained very well."

        "Are you certain that is all? You seem protective of him last night."

        "Isn't it my duty to protect him? As much as I understand your desire to discipline him, I don't think the Emir would approve of having his prized concubine marked in any way."

        "To protect him... Yes, that is one of your duties. Your other duty I believe is to tame him, am I right?"

        Methos eyed Kamir with suspicion, wondering where this line of questioning was going to. "Yes, that is true."

        "So," the adviser began, "have you fulfilled this duty?"

        The ancient's heart thudded rapidly in his chest. "I believe I have. You've seen how meek he is in my presence."

        A sly grin formed on Kamir's face as he raised his hand. "Very well! Here's your chance to prove your claim."

        Methos whirled around to find the robed form of the Emir's whore behind him. The young man's brown doe eyes were wide in startlement, not expecting to find the ancient in Kamir's tent. For once, Methos was at a loss. He did not know who this young man standing before him was.

        In his confusion, the ancient blurted out, "Sanchi? Shinno? Who..."

        "Yes, that's a good question," Kamir remarked as he got to his feet. "WHO ARE YOU?"

        Suddenly, the adviser reached out and grabbed the young man's arm.

        "LET GO OF ME!" the concubine exclaimed, struggling to jerk his arm free.

        With a powerful wrenching motion, Kamir shoved the young man onto the mat. Methos watched in shocked, helpless silence as the Indian tore the robe to shreds, leaving the concubine naked and trembling in terror. But what stunned the ancient the most was the sight of the brand on the young man's shoulder. Three words in flowing Arabic script seared onto his skin. "Prince of Whores."

        "SHINNO!" Methos gasped out.

        "Yes, this is Shinno...AND Sanchi, if I heard you right," Kamir confirmed. "I don't know what game you've been playing, Little Whore, but you should never have trusted a drunken idiot of a servant to act as if there were two of you in existence." Brutally, the Indian pushed the whoremaster into the ancient's arms. "Show me, Methos! Show me that you have tamed him! I have promised you a feast! Let us both partake of the beautiful flesh of this whore! Besides..." Kamir grinned lasciviously. "He needs to be punished for this deception."

        Tears welled up in Shinno's lovely eyes as he looked up at Methos. Eyes that so reminded him of a child in a keep. "Methos, no! I could explain everything, but not here, not now."

        "I don't understand. Why..."

        "You promised you wouldn't hurt me!" Shinno begged the ancient. "Please! You promised me!"

        Promises again. What was he going to do, the ancient thought in panic. Two promises... Which was he going to choose?

        Kamir, however, took the choice from him. In sheer ferocity, the Indian grabbed Shinno back. Pushing the younger man down on the mat, Kamir straddled him and forced his legs wide apart. To Methos' horror, the adviser pulled out a dagger, positioning the sharp tip at the whore's opening.

        "KAMIR, NO!" the ancient cried.

        "Your choice, Methos!" Kamir's eyes shone with an insane light. "Either you take him first or I will."

        Methos gritted his teeth, hands clenched in fists at his sides. Steeling himself for the disgusting task before him, he took two steps forward, laying a heavy hand on the Indian's shoulder. Methos was revolted by the leer on the adviser's face as he relinquished his position to the older Immortal. Jaw hardening, he peeled off his clothes one by one.

        When the ancient lay on top of him, Shinno shook his head. "No, Methos! You promised! I trusted you!"

        That vulnerability caused anger to rise in the ancient's heart. His hand flew out, viciously slapping the whoremaster in the face.

        "Fight me, Shinno!" Methos hissed in the young man's ear, so that Kamir would not hear what he was saying. "Damn it! I didn't teach you this! Remember what Hideo Koto taught you! Fight me, damn you! FIGHT!"

        However, Shinno burst into tears. Gripping the veil tightly over his face, the concubine parted his legs in complete submission. That surrender forced a cry of anger and frustration to rise from his throat.

        "Put out that light!" Methos snarled at the Indian.

        As Kamir happily complied, the ancient tore the veil from Shinno's face.

        Bending down upon the terrified young man, Methos sobbed, "Forgive me, Shinno! Please forgive me!"

 

        The hours passed as the two Immortals took turns in abusing the poor concubine. At one point, they used him at the same time. Methos could see Kamir's frenzied outline as he forced himself inside Shinno's mouth. He knew that he looked the same to the adviser, thrusting hard and fast into the whore's battered ass.

        Methos wished that he could spare Shinno this cruelty and humiliation. The wine he had drank, however, filled his mind only with the need to fulfill his desires. Besides that, he was too angry to care. This young man beneath him was not the Shinno he had known. Not the whoremaster, with his fiery temper and caustic tongue. Not the sly ninja who was always one step ahead of him. Not his student, whom he dreamed would one day become one of the world's greatest warriors. Not even Sanchi had been this completely submissive. This terrified, meek form in his arms...he didn't know him at all.

        As he pounded into Shinno, the ancient hoped he could elicit a response from the younger man -- a push, a punch, a cry of fury, the angry gnashing of teeth, even a sharp, piercing gaze. However, there was none. Just the sounds of weeping.

        Daybreak saw Methos inching out of guilt-ridden nightmares, the whoremaster beside him, dressed in his tattered robe. Kamir was nowhere to be found. Turning to face Shinno, he saw that the concubine was also awake, the lower half of his face covered by the veil once more. But his eyes were a blank.

        "Shinno?" Methos whispered. "Shinno! It's all right now. It's over." He reached out to caress the young man's face.

        But the minute his fingers touched a cheekbone, Shinno was jolted to alertness. Whimpering, he crawled away from the ancient. For a moment, there was confusion in Shinno's face. However, looking down at his bruised and battered body, the memory of last night came flooding back.

        "Why?" Shinno demanded, seeing his long legs drenched with blood. "Why did you do this to me?"

        "He was going to kill you!" Methos desperately tried to explain. "I had no choice!"

        "Death was the better option! Anything, but rape!"

        "Shinno, I'm sorry, but I couldn't let you die! Don't choose death! Live! Grow stronger! Fight another day! You must fight for your freedom!"

        The whoremaster, however, was no longer listening to him. With an anguished cry, Shinno revealed what was once inside his heart that was now broken to pieces. "I trusted you, Methos! You promised you would never hurt me! But you betrayed me again! This is the second time that you betrayed me!"

        Methos shook his head in confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

        Tears streaming down his cheeks, Shinno donned his robe. "What did I do to you, Methos? What the hell did I do to make you treat me this way?"

        The ancient raised his hand helplessly to the young man. "Shinno, calm down! You're not making any sense! Except for this moment... You must tell me! In the past, when have I hurt you? In what way have I betrayed you? Please tell me! I don't know! I swear I don't know!"

        A stinging slap was delivered to his cheek, leaving a bloody handprint on his cheek.

        "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN!" screamed Shinno. "I HATE YOU, METHOS! I HATE YOU SO MUCH I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"

        Saying this, Shinno fled from the tent. Methos quickly pulled on his trousers and hurried after the whoremaster. As he emerged into the sunlight, he saw Shinno making a mad dash for one of the dunes.

        "Shinno, wait!" the ancient called out, giving chase.

        Suddenly, the stillness of the morning was jarred by a ululating cry. As Methos looked on in horror, black-clad riders appeared at the top of the sand dune. Bandits! One of them urged his horse down the dune, heading towards the whoremaster. Before Shinno could get away, the bandit reached down, grabbed him by the waist and hauled him onto his saddle.

        "NO!" Methos shouted in rage, quickening his pace. "LET HIM GO, DAMN YOU! SHINNO!"

        However, the rider swiftly turned his horse in the direction of his comrades. With fierce cries, they galloped off, kicking up sand in Methos' face.

        With a frustrated growl, the Immortal hurried back to his tent to get dressed, nearly bumping into Khassim.

        "What is it, Methos?" Khassim demanded. "I heard shouting!"

        Methos emerged from his tent in full battle gear, his Ivanhoe slung at his back. He let out a high-pitched whistle. To his surprise, not only did his steed Thanatos gallop towards him, but also Shinno's horse, Denko.

        Climbing onto the saddle, the ancient told the moor, "Shinno was abducted by bandits. I'm going after them."

        "I'm coming with you!" exclaimed Khassim.

        "There's no time! I might lose them!"

        "Give me a minute, Methos! There is something that you must take with you!"

        Methos snarled in impatience as the moor dashed off to his own tent. Thankfully, he returned at once with a pack, slinging it over Denko's saddle. Methos saw that the pack contained Shinno's katana and other weaponry.

        "You might need this," Khassim told him. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

        The ancient shook his head. "No, Khassim. I need you here. Take the caravan to the next oasis. I can't risk the bandits attacking you too. Although Shinno was obviously their target, they might return here."

        "But what about you and Shinno?"

        Methos' lips formed a grim line. "Pray to Allah, my friend! Pray that I find him and rescue him before it's too late. We'll catch up with you!"

        "What am I going to tell Kamir?"

        The ancient thought for a moment. "Tell Kamir what happened. Tell him also, that when I return, his head is mine!"

        No longer waiting for the moor's reply, Methos secured Denko's reins to his saddle and urged Thanatos  into a full gallop, heading out into the desert and the unknown.

 

 

**TO BE CONTINUED IN _LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST STORY ARC 2: THE TADEMAIT PLATEAU_**

 


	12. Prologue

 

**PROLOGUE**

        Sleep was slow to come for the Horseman as he lay quietly in his bed, staring up at the shadows cast by the torchlight on the ceiling. The aches in his body made it difficult for him to find the slumber he seeks.

_        Damn!_ he cursed for a thousandth time. _I should put a stop to this lunacy. I really cannot take much more of this kind of treatment. Damn it! We're supposed to be Brothers!_ Turning on his side, he groaned as a sharp pain pierced inside him. _I'm getting too old for this! Maybe I should go on my merry way at last._

        But the Horseman knew he couldn't leave. Something, or more specifically "someone," was keeping him here in these God-forsaken mountains. It was someone he would willingly take along with him, if he only could.

        His ears perked up as he heard his door slowly open and then squeak shut.

_        Wonderful!_ the Horseman grumbled inwardly. _Now I'll never get any sleep!_

        A frown creased his brow, feeling his blanket lifted up at the foot of the bed. Then, a tiny body began crawling under the covers, carefully making its way upward. Finding the cozy hollow of the Horseman's belly, the moving lump curled up in a fetal position. He could feel the small form trembling, tears wetting his skin.

        Removing the blanket from his body, the Horseman lifted the tiny ball, smelling of sweet heather blossoms and baby's breath, a warm smile forming on his face. Here was his main reason for staying in this land. Gently, he took the weeping child in his arms, running his fingers soothingly through the tangled sable locks.

        The little boy was no more than five years old, but, already, one could see the man he would become. Beautiful of face, full rosy lips, flushed cheeks that would pit with adorable dimples when he smiled. And those eyes... Eyes of a warm brown, like that of a playful puppy dog or a gentle fawn. But now, there were tears in those lovely eyes that it tugged at the Horseman's heart.

        "What are you doing here?" he asked the child softly, wiping away the tears with his fingertips. "You should be asleep. And why are you crying?"

        Sobbing, the boy answered in heavy brogue, "I came ta see if ye were all right."

        "Of course I'm all right!" the Horseman laughed. "Why did you think I may not be so?"

        "I saw ye... wi' him." That last came so reluctantly. "I heard ye makin' funny noises. I was afraid he hurt ye bad."

        "You shouldn't be poking around in places you shouldn't be in," he scolded the child. "There are things not meant to be seen by younglings like you. You won't be able to understand unless you're a little older."

        "But...but I think I understand now."

        "What do you mean?" the Horseman asked curiously.

        "I asked him wha' ye two were doin'. He said 'tis the way of warriors. He told me tha', though it may seem like it, it really doesna' hurt. Tha' ye e'en liked it." Timidly, the boy confessed, "I asked him ta show me. After all, I'm goin' ta be a great warrior someday sa I thought I should learn now."

        "Learn what?" he demanded. Already, dread was filling his heart. "What did he do to you?"

        The child stood up straight and tall, cocking his head up, trying to hold the tears that were threatening to burst from his throat. "He showed me what ta do. It...hurt...verra much, but I dinna cry. I'm a great warrior, like ye."

_        NOOO!_ the word screamed inside his mind. _It couldn't be true! Not this child! Not this beautiful, loving child!_

        Fearfully, his hand went down the small back, reaching for the tiny rump that twitched in pain. The Horseman's eyes widened in shock. His hand came away bloodied, confirming his worst fears.

        Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang and the huge hulk of the Lord of the Keep stood before them, a candlestick in his hand. The child let out a mewling cry. Before the Horseman could wrap his arms protectively around him, the boy was roughly pulled out of his grasp.

        "What are ye doin' wi' ma son?" the Lord demanded furiously. "Wha' is he doin' here in yer chamber?"

        "He couldn't sleep and he came to see me, my Lord," the Horseman answered him, fearing for the child.

        Then, the Lord made his son turn around, that his bleeding backside was grotesquely illuminated in the candlelight. Laying the candle down at once, he began shaking the boy roughly.

        "Don't hurt him!" shouted the Horseman, putting on his tunic and trousers. "Damn it, man! Let him go!"

        The Lord snarled in the child's face, "Who did this ta ye?" Pointing to the Horseman, he asked, "Was it him?"

        "Faither, ye're hurtin' me!" The boy was weeping in terror.

        "Tell me, ye little whore!" The Lord shook the child once more that he began to scream.

        "Stop it!" the Horseman cried. "He's done nothing wrong!"

        "If I dinna see it wi' ma own eyes, I wouldn't 'ave believed it," the Lord muttered in dismay. Glaring fiercely at the boy, he said, "I knew I sud no' 'ave taken ye in. But my wife wanted sa much ta 'ave a son. Ye're a whore, like the peasant woman who brought ye. Tell me! Who 'ave ye been lyin' with? Is it him?"

        The child shook his head frantically. Then, to the Horseman's shock, the Lord of the Keep struck the boy in the face. At once, the child began to scream madly.

        "'Twas him!" the boy cried. "HIM!"

        The Horseman shook his head in disbelief. "It's not true! It's a lie! I never touched him!" He begged the boy, "Tell him the truth! Tell him who did this to you!"

        But the child screamed only one word over and over again. "HIM! HIM! HIM!"

        "Guards!" the Lord shouted. Turning to the Horseman, he said, "Ye have brought shame into my house. I will have your head for this!"

        "I did no wrong!" The Horseman gritted his teeth. "If there's anyone who has brought shame, it's that child you call 'son.'" Climbing through the windowsill, he pointed his sharp sword at the terrified little boy. "You have betrayed me, boy! I loved you with all my heart and, yet, you betrayed me! YOU ACCUSED ME FALSELY! Mark my words! You haven't seen the last of me! I will return to get my revenge on you!"

        Saying this, the Horseman leaped out the window and plunged into the waters below. As he swam in the depths of the loch, he didn't see the child run towards the window.

        "Come back!" the boy cried out to his protector, hand reaching out. "Dinna leave me! Please, come back!"


End file.
